


Awakenings V (in which Greg Lestrade gets all the boys...)

by sanguisuga



Series: Awakenings [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Comeplay, Couch Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Doubt, Felching, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn, Rimming, Roleplay, Spanking, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, johnlockstrade - Freeform, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 81,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in Baker Street after Greg has moved in with John and Sherlock - and after Mycroft has neatly inserted himself into their lives...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation on Awakenings, established relationships between John and Greg, Greg and Sherlock, John and Sherlock, and now, Greg and Mycroft. 
> 
> (Eventual Mycroft and Sherlock as well, probably sometime around chapter 30-ish. I will be adding a relationship tag and incest warning once it happens. Actually, I have decided that when it does happen, I'll be adding a part 6 to the Awakenings series, so people can avoid it if it gives them the squickies.)
> 
> ((*whew*))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has an attitude, and Greg gets tired of it. Something interesting happens along the way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...this is something that came out of nowhere, but of course I had to write it up, being the filthy-minded creature that I am. And being such a filthy-minded creature, I'm rather proud of this bit of smut, so I wanted to share. 
> 
> This is after the relationship between John, Greg and Sherlock is well-established, and after Mycroft has come to Greg as well.
> 
> Dying to know what people may think of this - feedback is love, my darlings!

" _Goddammit_ , Sherlock! You _cannot_ keep behaving this way!" Greg paused briefly at the door to the sitting room, shedding his mack and tossing it at the coat rack. He missed utterly, but ignored it as John came up behind him and hung it up properly. Greg paced as he fumed, and John watched for a moment before shaking his head and entering via the kitchen door instead.

Sherlock sat sullenly in his armchair and stared at nothing, a truly magnificent scowl fixed on his face. He turned the fierce expression on Greg momentarily, then looked away again and folded his arms over his chest.

Greg sighed deeply. "I know, baby. I know what she said. And she will be receiving an official reprimand for it. On paper and all." There was a slight turn-up at the corner of the younger man's plush lips, but then the scowl returned in full force. "She does it specifically to bother you, Sherlock. Stop rising to the bait, and she'll stop saying it." Greg stopped his pacing, coming to a halt in front of Sherlock. "And just because she said it, that doesn't give you the right to deduce her to...to _tears_."

Sherlock smirked somewhat evilly as he rolled his eyes. "No! It's not okay, baby. That sort of behaviour is unacceptable, especially at a crime scene! I don't want to see it happen again, is that understood?" Greg sighed again, running his hand through his hair. "Be better than them, Sherlock."

Sherlock finally acknowledged Greg by slowly unfolding himself from his chair and meeting his eyes with a stony glare. "And what will you do if I _don't_ , Greg? Are you going to punish me?"

Greg's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If that's what it takes." He grasped Sherlock's upper arm and swiftly turned him around before pushing him into a bending position. He gave his arse two swift smacks, earning a quiet gasp both from Sherlock and from John, who had wandered in from the kitchen to get a better view of the melodrama. Greg released Sherlock and stepped back, putting his hands on his hips. Sherlock straightened slowly, a look of pure incredulity on his face. A face that had gone nicely pink, at that. "If you insist on acting like a child, then I will be more than happy to treat you as one."

Sherlock simply stared for a moment, his quicksilver eyes glancing between John and Greg uncertainly. Something in his posture shifted subtly, a slight hunch to his shoulders, a petulant moue on his lips. "I'm not going to stop, and _you_ can't _make_ me."

"Right." Greg grabbed his arm again and dragged him toward the sofa. "Drop 'em."

Sherlock's lips parted and his eyes widened. "What?" The query came out as a mere whisper.

"If we're going to carry out this farce, it may as well be done properly. Trousers and pants - down. Now. If you don't do it, then I will."

Another blank stare, as Sherlock just stood there, still as a statue, silver-blue eyes slowly going black, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow. Greg huffed and ran his hands under Sherlock's suit jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and dropping it on the floor before loosening his belt and drawing down the zip on his trousers. He grasped the waistband of both trousers and pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh before he sat down on the edge of the sofa and yanked Sherlock down across his lap without ceremony.

He delivered three solid strikes, and Sherlock squirmed uneasily over Greg's lap as he gasped in shock. Greg shivered as he felt Sherlock growing hard against him, his cock pressing into his leg persistently. "Greg, I -" Two more swats, and Sherlock rutted against Greg's thigh as he put the heel of his hand to his mouth.

"Yes, baby?"

Sherlock moaned low. _"Daddy."_ His voice was little more than a low rumble, and Greg had to bend nearer to hear it clearly. "Daddy, _please_..."

Greg sat up abruptly, his mind gone utterly blank. He stared down at his hand, resting innocuously on the small of Sherlock's back. There was another quiet murmur and mindless rut from the man stretched across his legs and Greg shivered again. Then John's hand was on his, squeezing lightly, reassuringly. He took it and placed it firmly back on that lush arse before sitting down next to Greg and pulling Sherlock's head into his lap.

John gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, and the younger man immediately nuzzled into the crotch of his jeans. John nodded at Greg decisively, and he suddenly found himself raising his hand again and again, bringing it down on that luscious arse over and over.

More mindless writhing, Sherlock rubbing himself against Greg while practically chanting, " _Yes_ , Daddy, _more_ Daddy, _please_. Daddy, Daddy _please_..."

John ran a soothing hand down Sherlock's back, bending over him slightly. "Shh, baby. You were bad, and Daddy has to punish you. Take it like a big boy. Be good for Daddy." Sherlock nodded feebly, his eyes squeezed shut, rubbing his face into John's crotch. Greg mimicked John's calming touch, running the flat of his palm over Sherlock's abused bum.

After some of the heat had receded from the flesh under his hands, Greg finally found his voice, albeit a rather quiet one. "John? I did not know that this was one of your things."

John shook his head. "It isn't," he whispered. "But Sherlock is 'one of my things', as you so eloquently put it - and I've never seen him this turned on. _Jesus_ , Greg." Sherlock whimpered quietly as Greg's fingertips danced over the cleft of his arse. He mouthed at John's crotch, his body shuddering under their combined touch. "Shh. Be a good boy, now. You know Daddy doesn't want to hurt you, right?"

A whimper and a moan as Sherlock spread his thighs, giving Greg's fingers more access. He nodded slowly, uncertainly. "Daddy doesn't like to hurt, no. I was bad."

John hummed low. "That's right." He dipped his free hand deep into the sofa cushion, reaching, searching. He pulled out a bottle of lube with a slightly triumphant smile and passed it over to Greg. "You were bad, so he had to punish you. But you're going to be a good boy from now on, right?" Another shaky nod, another hard thrust against Greg's leg as he slicked up his fingers. Greg put one finger to Sherlock's hole, circling lightly. Sherlock gasped and his hips stopped thrusting momentarily. John's smile widened. "Do you want Daddy to make it all better? Huh, baby?"

Greg began to probe gently, grinning as Sherlock's back arched and he pushed his hips up. "Oh, _Daddy_. Oh, yes, _please_." He whined as Greg teased around his arsehole. "Daddy..." Greg slid his finger in, moving it in slow, deep circles. Sherlock hissed out a short breath before resuming his rutting against Greg's thigh, pushing back into his hand as Greg deftly added a second finger.

Sherlock began to mouth at John's denim-clad crotch again, leaving a growing patch of wet behind, both from his saliva and the smaller man's obvious arousal. He began to make small noises as Greg's fingers worked him open, plunging in deeper and faster. " _More_ , Daddy. Oh _please_ , more."

John fisted his hand in Sherlock's curls and pulled him away from his groin. "I know what you want. You want Daddy's cock, don't you baby?"

Greg's body quaked at John's filthy words, the tremor starting at his toes and moving inexorably upward. Sherlock moaned incoherently. John bent down to Sherlock's ear. "He needs to hear you say it. Tell him, baby."

Sherlock thrust back into Greg's hand with increasing fervour. "God, _yes_... Daddy, I need your cock inside me. Fuck me, Daddy... Make me behave. Fuck me _hard_."

"Oh, sweet _Christ_." Greg was suddenly, achingly hard as he met John's eyes. "I'm going to go to hell for this, I just know it."  
   
John laughed quietly as he leant in to kiss him. "He needs it, Greg. Just look at him." John moved away slightly and started to unbutton his shirt.  
   
Greg looked down at the man writhing over both of their laps, luminescent eyes only half-open, brilliant mouth hanging listlessly, breath coming in hot short gasps. He tentatively squeezed at one tender arse-cheek, wincing as Sherlock whined and renewed his rutting with increased vigour.  
   
"All right then. Hell it is." Greg bent over, struggling to remove Sherlock's trousers completely, but found it an impossible task due to his angle and the fact that all of his mindless writhings had utterly tangled him up.  
   
John chuckled as he watched his lover's fruitless attempt to strip Sherlock down. "Here." He lifted Sherlock's torso off his lap and slowly deposited him on the sofa as Greg slid out from underneath the prone figure. Sherlock immediately turned onto his side and started to palm his erection while suckling on his own fingers. John reached over and grabbed both of his hands, holding them up and away from his body. "Wait, baby. You have to wait for Daddy, okay?"  
    
The poor lad whined quietly as his curls bounced in agreement. Sherlock twined his fingers together and put his hands to his chest, his hips slowly thrusting against nothing. Greg removed his own shirt while John worked on untangling Sherlock's trousers, finally pulling them off and discarding them in the corner. Within moments, they were all naked.  
   
John settled himself on the sofa again, sprawling sideways and taking Sherlock's head back into his lap. Sherlock immediately sought out his erection with his mouth, causing John to jump and pull his face out of his crotch. "I said _wait_ , baby. Daddy's not ready yet." Sherlock whined again and licked his lips, a thin line of drool connecting his mouth to the head of John's cock. "For _fuck's_ sake, Greg. Hurry the _fuck_ up. _Fucking_ Christ!"  
   
Greg grinned suddenly, his nerves suddenly calming and his uncertainty being washed away. At least in all this madness, he still had control over one thing - the ability to tease the hell out of one John Watson. He never grew tired of hearing the invective that came out of that sweet little mouth, especially when he was the cause of it. The grin grew as he slicked up his cock oh-so-slowly, eyeing John wickedly.

John licked his lips and groaned throatily, his eyelids fluttering becomingly. "Greg,  _please_."  
   
Greg positioned himself behind Sherlock and grasped his hips firmly, bringing his arse up. Sherlock moaned and dipped his spine, presenting himself rather prettily. Greg took a moment to appreciate his handiwork, Sherlock's arse-cheeks nicely red and ever-so-slightly inflamed. He squeezed them together, then spread them apart and lined himself up. He waited. And waited some more.  
   
Sherlock moaned and writhed. John snarled. _"Fucking hell, Greg!"_  
   
With a slight smirk, Greg began to push his way in slowly, deeply. John instantly released his grip on Sherlock's head and threw his own back as Sherlock fastened onto his cock. Greg could tell right away that this was not one of Sherlock's customary blowjobs. Those were usually delivered with more precision, each kiss and lick or flutter of the tongue calculated to the nth degree. This was pure suction and friction, Sherlock's head bobbing furiously as John groaned and thrashed.

Greg quickly picked up on Sherlock's urgency and slammed into him, pulling out nearly all the way each time. He had only been at it a half-minute or so when Sherlock suddenly stilled, his body completely rigid. He pressed his forehead into John's stomach for a moment, panting.

"Baby, did you just - ?"

Sherlock moaned. " _Daddy_ , don't stop."

He latched back onto John as Greg reached around and palmed Sherlock's cock, staring at the mess on his hand briefly before simply licking it clean. John was obviously overcome as his slate-blue eyes fastened onto the sight of Sherlock's come being lapped up by Greg's nimble tongue. He groaned loudly and grabbed hold of Sherlock's head, thrusting viciously into his mouth twice before coming hard, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth twisted, teeth pressing deep into his bottom lip.

"Jesus _wept_ , John."

_"Unh."_ John pulled Sherlock off of him and fisted his own cock, squeezing out the last bits of come. He ran his fingers over Sherlock's lips and cheeks, smiling as Sherlock eagerly licked at his hand. "That's it, baby. Eat it all up."

Greg sucked in a harsh breath as warmth pooled in his belly, his bollocks pulling up tight. Sherlock moaned and rolled his hips, pressing back against Greg as he thrust deep. "Fuck yeah, baby. So good."

John breathed deep and cradled Sherlock's head against his stomach. "You like making Daddy feel good, don't you, baby? You _love_ it." Sherlock nodded and bit his lip, grunting softly with every thrust.

"Yes yes oh _yes_. Daddy..." John locked gazes with Greg over Sherlock's bent head.

"And there's nothing Daddy loves more than coming in your sweet, _sweet_ arse. So ripe and plush... God, so tight and _hot_. Sweetest arse in all Creation." Sherlock moaned incoherently and Greg's breath stuttered in his chest as John winked slowly. "Come for your baby, Daddy. Make him all hot and sticky."

Sherlock yelped as Greg slammed in hard and held himself there, pressing in deeper and deeper still as he pulsed into him. "Oh sweet God good Lord in Heaven. Jesus _fucking_ Christ!" Greg collapsed against Sherlock's back before throwing John a dirty look. "Good God Almighty, John, you are a filthy little fucker."

Sherlock moaned again and pushed against Greg, prompting him to reach underneath him with a little frown. "Christ, baby. You're still hard." He fisted his cock slowly, pulling out with a quiet moan as he did so.

John hummed and pulled Sherlock up for a kiss. "Or you got hard again, huh, baby? You want Daddy to take care of that for you?"

"Please..." Sherlock's voice was quiet, his breathing ragged, elegant curls drenched in sweat. "Oh _please_ , Daddy."

John looked at Greg seriously as he slowly fingered Sherlock, delighting in the feel of his come slipping and sliding around inside him, the dirty squelching noises his abused hole made as he pushed his release in and out. "Baby's tired. Don't tease him, Daddy."

Greg quirked one eyebrow and tightened his fist around that lovely cock as he moved his fingers in and out, stroking firmly against Sherlock's prostate. With a little shrug, he bent down and nibbled delicately on one red arse-cheek. Sherlock cried out and thrust faster into Greg's hand, his body spasming after only a few strokes, hot come spurting over his belly and John's legs.

Greg withdrew silently, his head spinning, as Sherlock whined and pressed his face into John's belly. Then he sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation from deep in his chest. Sherlock dropped down onto John, turning on his side and pulling his legs up. He brought his fist up to his mouth and latched on to it, gently worrying his fingers between his teeth. Sherlock's face slowly settled into something resembling absolute bliss, utter satisfaction as his lanky body relaxed completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathtime for baby...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so definitely not a one-off, as I had originally pictured. Not only that, but it went to a surprisingly angsty place. This is just more smut and kink and Greg getting his head around some stuff. Please do let me know how I'm doing... :)

John and Greg stared at each other in silence for a long while. They each took in the appearance of the man lying prone between them, the dark curls plastered to sweaty, flushed skin, John's come drying on his mouth and cheeks, Greg's running down the backs of his thighs, his own striping his belly. He had been thoroughly used and utterly debauched, and he looked absolutely divine.  
   
Greg ran a hand down Sherlock's side, smiling as he arched into his touch. John pushed his hair away from his face. "God, John. He is _filthy_." Greg's voice was breathless, reverent. "I've never seen him look so beautiful."  
   
John smiled gently. "Our precious dirty boy." Sherlock moaned around his fist.  
   
Greg cleared his throat. "Uh - John..."  
   
John hushed him with a finger to his lips. "I know, Greg. I don't think you need to worry, though. I have a feeling this sort of thing won't be happening too often." John reached out to run a hand down Greg's thigh. "Just enjoy the moment, yeah?"  
   
Sherlock curled into himself a little more, murmuring quiet nonsense noises. Greg leant down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Love you, baby."  
   
"Mm." He let out a quiet exhalation, a minute tremor passing through his body as Greg ran his fingers over his flank. "Daddy... Love you..."  
   
John sighed. "We better get him cleaned up before he passes out completely, Daddy."  
   
Greg smirked and grasped Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him off of John and into a limp sitting position. He felt like a rather large and unwieldy rag doll in his arms as Sherlock's head fell against his shoulder. "C'mon baby, time for a bath." John stood and helped Greg wrangle him off the sofa, wrapping one arm around his waist as Greg slipped his around his shoulders, both of them carefully leading him down the hallway like they might direct a sleepwalker.  
   
Once in the bathroom, Greg held him propped up against the counter while John drew the bath. He carefully tilted Sherlock's head back, staring searchingly at his face. It was beatific, but oddly blank - his usually brilliant eyes only half-open, with no discernible expression or even a clear sign of intelligence to be seen.  
   
"John. I - I'm not sure... I mean, was what we just did entirely, _um_ - ethical? It's like he's not even in there..."  
   
John ran a hand down Greg's arm soothingly and then did his own cursory examination. "Sherlock? It's John." The limp form took in a deep breath, his eyes flickering back into awareness slowly. "Sherlock - I'm checking in, love. What's your colour?"  
   
Greg threw John a bewildered look even as Sherlock's eyelids fluttered, his voice a bare whisper. " _Green_. Greengreengreen."   
   
"Okay, baby. Okay. Let Daddy take care of you now." Greg watched intently as Sherlock's eyes slid out of focus once again. John leant his head on Greg's shoulder as he tucked an arm around his waist. "Subspace, love. He's a bit out of his head, but we can bring him out of it if we need to."  
   
"But we've never even talked about this sort of thing before. We don't have safewords and all that."  
   
"Green, yellow, red. You told me that he used to play, Greg, so I knew he'd know what I meant by 'colour'. I'll admit that this was a bit unexpected, but I've seen it happen before." Greg quirked an eyebrow down at him, frowning slightly as John sighed. "When I was seeing Arianna. Sometimes we'd be at a play party and what seemed to be a pretty standard scene would turn into something - different. More intense. There would be some sort of trigger, and the sub would just...go somewhere else for a little while." John stood back and looked Sherlock over appraisingly. "I suspected he had more sub in him than he was entirely comfortable with sharing with us, but I somehow doubt even he is aware of this aspect of himself."

"But we don't 'play', John. This isn't a scene, this is real. This is _us_. I never thought we'd need precautions and safewords for _us_. Sherlock isn't our sub. He's our lover, our partner."  
   
John blinked up at him. "Yes, he is. And for whatever reason, he needs this right now. We shouldn't deny him. This - whatever this is, it was buried _deep_ , Greg. Your hand brought it out." John smiled at him, a wicked little glint in his eye. "Your delightfully firm hand."  
   
"And your sinfully filthy mouth, John Watson."  
   
John stepped back into Greg's embrace, tracing his tongue along his collarbone and down his sternum. "I couldn't help but notice that you were having a bit of difficulty with the whole 'Daddy' thing. I was just...offering encouragement." John looked up at Greg seriously. "This shouldn't be all about Sherlock, love. If you're unsure, if you want or need to stop, just say so. We can bring him out of it."

Greg leant down and kissed John tenderly. "You say he needs this. So we follow it through, yeah?"  
   
"Daddy..." Greg's eyes snapped from John's to Sherlock's. The younger man was still propped up on the counter, but he was shivering slightly. "Cold."  
   
Greg released John and folded Sherlock into his arms. "It's all right, baby. Daddy's here." He rolled his eyes at John's self-satisfied smirk. "Let's just get you into the nice warm bath, yeah?"  
    
Sherlock nodded tremulously, a faint smile on his lips. Greg climbed into the bath first, leaning back as John assisted Sherlock in lowering himself into the water. He hissed slightly when his reddened bum hit the tub, but sighed happily once he was settled comfortably, his hands splashing idly on the surface of the water. John shook his head in bemusement as he passed Greg the shampoo and dumped a pitcher of water over Sherlock's head without warning.  
   
Sherlock shrieked incredulously, fringe dripping into his face as he skimmed the water with his hand, splashing John back. Greg laughed at John's expression of utter shock as the water dripped off his face and ran down his chest.  
   
"What did you expect, John? He's like...five right now." Greg squirmed uneasily. "Or something..."  
    
John's eyes narrowed. "I expected him to be a _good_ boy, after that spanking you gave him."  
   
Greg found himself reaching out to pull Sherlock in to his body protectively. "Then give him a bit of warning next time, _Mother_."  
   
John's eyes flew open wide and his lips pressed tight. Sherlock shook his head emphatically. "No, no no..."   
   
"What is it, baby?"  
   
"Not Mother. No. And no fighting!" He smacked his hands down on the surface of the water.  
   
Greg smoothed the damp fringe out of Sherlock's eyes. "Okay. No fighting." He grinned at John, who was still staring darkly. "Okay. You're baby, right?" A nod. "And I'm Daddy." A more decisive nod. "So who is John, if not Mother?"

Sherlock pulled a face, apparently lost in thought, before whining quietly. "Dunno."  
   
John's glare softened minutely. "How about Papa?" Sherlock smiled brightly and Greg chuckled. "Daddy has to wash your hair, so I'm going to pour some more water over you, okay?" Sherlock nodded and shielded his eyes as John tipped the pitcher over his head slowly.

Sherlock beamed at John as Greg started to work suds into his hair. "Thank you, Papa." He hummed as Greg's fingers worked over his scalp and then tilted his head back.

Greg nodded at John. "Cover your eyes, baby." Sherlock dutifully put a hand over his face as John poured water over his head several times, making sure his hair was rinsed quite clean. John knelt by the side of the tub and dunked a flannel in the water, gently scrubbing at the mess he had left behind on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock tried to twist away from him as he attacked a particularly sticky patch on his cheek. "Ow, Papa." John frowned in concentration and continued to chase the spot with determined stubbornness. Greg sat back and laughed at the oddly domestic scene before reaching for a flannel of his own and the bar of soap, running it down Sherlock's spine. _"Oh."_ Sherlock suddenly quieted, allowing John to wipe away the last of his mess as Greg slowly scrubbed at his back and rinsed him clean.  
   
Greg dipped the flannel and soap below the water line, taking a moment to wash himself thoroughly. Sherlock shivered as incidental touches of the cloth or Greg's hand brushed against his lower back and tailbone. He moaned and suddenly pressed his back up against Greg's chest, trapping his hand between his cock and Sherlock's arse.  
   
John quirked an eyebrow at Greg, who shrugged helplessly. "I was just washing. _Honest_." John grinned and trailed his own cloth down Sherlock's belly and then lower. Sherlock threw his head back against Greg's shoulder and writhed against him.  
   
"Oh, _baby_..." John's voice was low and deep, and Greg found his cock stirring at the sound of it. He wrestled his hand away from his groin and pressed Sherlock even closer to his body. Sherlock squealed quietly with delight and wriggled against him even as he brought up his knees and spread his thighs for John.  
   
"Papa..." Sherlock brought his fist to his mouth, setting his teeth into and sucking on the ball of his thumb. Greg reached up and drew his arm down, placing his own hand at Sherlock's lips. He eagerly started nipping and licking and sucking at Greg's fingers, his tongue working steadily against Greg's skin.  
   
Greg moaned as his cock sprung back into life. "He's quite, _um_ , oral when he's like this. I think I like it."  
   
John grinned disarmingly. "You're gonna _love_ it."  
   
"Oh?"  
   
"Oh yeah. Papa gets to fuck baby this time."  
   
Sherlock squealed again, the sound considerably muffled by three of Greg's fingers against his tongue. He let Greg's hand drop from his mouth as he abruptly came up on his knees in the water. _"Papa!"_ He clapped excitedly and turned a manic grin on Greg. John reached into the tub and pulled the stopper on the plughole as Sherlock launched himself at Greg. He landed on him with a not-inconsiderable splash, earning an exaggerated _'oof'_ from Greg and a vexed _'tsk'_ from John. "And Daddy gets sucked!" He slid down Greg's body slightly, licking delicately at one dusky nipple before looking up at him from underneath his dark lashes. "Would Daddy like that?"  
   
"Oh, sweet _Christ_."  
   
John laughed and held out a towel. "That means yes, baby. C'mere." Sherlock stood, dripping water everywhere, and Greg just sat and stared. Even now, apparently not fully in command of his senses, acting the innocent child, the man just exuded sex. Every line or curve or angle seemed to have been carved from marble, calculated to drive even the most chaste mad with desire.  
   
Sherlock stepped from the tub and turned to face Greg as John wrapped the towel around him. At any other time, the look that he would have given him would have been smouldering, inviting. Now, it was just wide-eyed and innocent, but nonetheless still terribly inviting. Greg stood and reached for his own towel, running it over himself lightly.  
   
"Pretty." Greg stood straight and cocked his head.  
   
John peeked out from around Sherlock and sighed. "Yes, baby. Daddy _is_ awfully pretty, isn't he?"  
   
Greg blushed before wrapping the towel around himself and stepping out of the tub. He reached for Sherlock's face and pulled him down to kiss him gently. "Thank you, baby." He looked at John and winked. "Papa just says that when he wants something."  
   
John huffed and laid the towel down on the floor, pulling Sherlock down onto his knees with him. Sherlock reached out and grabbed hold of Greg's towel, pulling his groin into his face. He nuzzled into the material of the towel, earning a quiet groan as his cheek brushed against the hardness underneath.  
    
"Here?" Greg loosened Sherlock's hold and got down on his knees himself. Sherlock buried his face in Greg's neck and started to suck enthusiastically. Before long, Greg's neck was thoroughly drenched in Sherlock's saliva and he could feel the dull ache of a considerable bruise beginning to form.  
   
John watched with interest and then shrugged. "We're going to have to clean him up again, Daddy. Or would you rather a messy baby and a messy bed?"  
   
Greg laughed. "You're always so practical, John."  
   
John shook his head as he grinned salaciously. "Nuh-uh... _Papa_."  
    
 _"Good God."_ John's smile sharpened as he looked at Greg over Sherlock's shoulder and reached for the lube on the bathroom counter. Greg huffed out a quiet laugh and John quirked an eyebrow in a silent question. "Oh, I was just wondering how many bottles of that stuff we've stashed all over the flat, that's all. Imagine how many Mrs. Hudson's happened across while snooping - or, ah - _straightening up_ \- as she says."  
   
John giggled, and Sherlock followed suit, his breath blowing out in little puffs against Greg's wet skin. "Daddy's funny."

Greg shook his head. "Funny-looking, maybe."

Sherlock frowned impressively before running his hands lightly down Greg's body, working the towel around his waist loose. He stroked Greg's cock, running his thumb over and down the slit. Greg groaned. "No. Daddy's pretty. So, so _pretty_." Sherlock squeezed gently and leant in to kiss Greg, licking and nipping at his lips. "And yummy, too."

Sherlock moaned into Greg's mouth as John started to work his fingers inside him. John tucked his forehead into Sherlock's shoulder and groaned. " _God_ , baby... Daddy fucked you good, didn't he? I can still feel him in you."

Greg threw his head back as Sherlock writhed against him. "Papa... _Mm_." He pulled back slightly to look at Greg with wide blue eyes. "Daddy made me feel _so_ good."

John sighed. "And you want to make him feel good too, right?"

Sherlock moved on John's hand, eyelids fluttering as he leant in to suck Greg's earlobe into his mouth, biting down gently. " _Yes_ yes yes. Daddy, please..."

John's eyes locked onto Greg's intensely. "Baby wants to suck you, Daddy."

Greg hesitated, closing his eyes and dropping his head slightly. Sherlock moaned and grunted softly as John continued to work him open, his breath hot on Greg's ear. He ran his fingers down Sherlock's sides. "Baby... I just -"

_"Greg."_ Sherlock's voice, his deep rich baritone, not the breathy mockery that he had been using, reverberated quietly in Greg's ear. He suddenly became aware of that familiar tension in the body pressed up against his, that tightly wound spring of energy that never seemed to relax fully, no matter how exhausted or well-fucked that body had been. _"Please."_ A soft exhale. _"I need you. Please."_

Greg opened his eyes to meet John's stare. John had felt that same tension and had stilled his hand, fingers still buried deep. The three men knelt together, still and frozen and silent until Greg let out a shaky breath. He reached up to run his fingers through Sherlock's curls, smiling as that lanky body shuddered and relaxed again.

"Daddy's here, baby. Papa too. We've got you." He gently disengaged from Sherlock's grasp and stood, fully discarding his towel. "Okay, Papa. How do you want to do this?"

"Oh _God_. I want to see."

Greg grinned. "Of course you do. All right, lie back." John stretched himself out on the floor. "Slick yourself up for baby. We don't want to hurt him, do we?"

"Only in all the right ways..." Sherlock giggled and clapped his hands as Greg shook his head down at John, who was slowly stroking his cock, liberally smearing it with lube.

Greg took Sherlock's chin in hand and tipped his head back. "Do you want to ride Papa, baby? Hm?"

Sherlock gasped with delight, his eyes widening almost comically. "Oh _yes_ Daddy. May I?"

Greg chuckled as John moaned quietly. "Yes, baby. You may. Here, back up a bit." Greg guided him as he shuffled backwards on his knees, straddling John's hips. "Let Papa help you."

John grasped Sherlock's hips and guided him into position above his cock. He lined himself up as Sherlock slowly sank down, impaling himself fully. John threw back his head, nearly cracking himself on the tile of the bathroom floor.

"Careful, Papa. Don't want you passing out on us." Greg took up his towel and folded it before sliding it under John's head as an impromptu pillow.

Sherlock giggled again and rolled his hips. John groaned. " _Fuck_ , baby. You're so - _unh_." He lifted his head slightly and grasped at Sherlock's still-red arse-cheeks, watching in awe as his cock slid in and out as he rode him. "Fucking _beautiful_."

"That is quite the lovely picture, in't it?" John hadn't even been aware as Greg slowly circled the pair writhing on the floor. "You two are _gorgeous_." He moved back to John's side and ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls. "How does Papa feel?"

"So good, Daddy. Oh so _good_." Sherlock moaned and reached out for him, twisting his torso. He grabbed at Greg's hips and looked at his cock, licking his lips longingly. "Please, Daddy. Please let me."

He winked down at John. "What do you think, Papa? Has baby been a good boy?"

John grunted as he thrust upwards steadily. "Fuck, Greg. So good. _Oh God_." Sherlock mewled as John changed angle slightly. "So fucking good."

"Open up, baby." Sherlock beamed up at him for a moment, bright blue eyes wide and adoring. Then his mouth dropped open obediently, pink tongue twitching in anticipation. Greg's knees trembled slightly as he moved in closer. He put the head of his cock at Sherlock's lips and groaned as he was eagerly swallowed down. He wasn't as frantic as he had been earlier on the sofa, but there was nothing like subtlety in the motions of his tongue and lips.

Sherlock simply sucked Greg's cock like a lolly, like it was a rare treat for having been a particularly good boy. Greg bit his lip as he looked down at his lover, his eyes fluttering as his cheeks hollowed, his head bobbing in a steady rhythm. "Fuck, baby. You're gonna suck Daddy dry at the rate you're going."

The corners of Sherlock's lips turned up slightly as he looked up at Greg from under his lashes. His hands started to wander down Greg's legs, obviously heading for his own cock. " _Nuh-uh_. Baby, stop. You're not to touch. That's for Daddy." Sherlock whined deep in his throat, causing Greg's breath to hitch. " _No_. Don't you disobey me, now..." He made the threat clear in his voice, and Sherlock reluctantly obeyed, bringing his hands up to grasp at Greg's hips again.

John moaned at the sight, renewing his motions, which had slowed slightly as he watched Greg put his cock to Sherlock's mouth. Greg patted Sherlock's curls and rocked his hips in time to the bobbing of his head. He glanced down at John, already looking a bit wrecked, and grinned. "You and Papa have been so good, Daddy wants to give you both a treat. So when Papa is done fucking you silly, and he comes deep, oh so _deep_ inside you, I'm gonna get down there, and I'm going to clean you _all_  up with my tongue." 

John groaned and panted, hips snapping up into Sherlock desperately. Sherlock moaned around Greg's cock and increased his pace, his body jolting with every thrust into his arse and mouth. Greg growled and grabbed his head. "Fuck. Would you like that, baby?" Sherlock nodded as best he could. "Papa?"

John groaned again, hips pistoning, his eyes squeezed shut. Greg grimaced as Sherlock dug his fingers into his arse-cheeks, now just holding on for dear life as his mouth was assaulted. "John. _Papa_. Look at me." Greg growled. " _Look at me_ , dammit!"

John's slate-blue eyes snapped open and locked onto Greg's dark gaze intensely. Greg threw back his head and groaned loud and long as he came, flooding Sherlock's mouth with his release. He heard John's breath stop for a moment before there was an answering groan from the floor. Greg pulled out and listened to Sherlock panting before falling to his knees in front of him. 

Sherlock had swallowed most of what Greg had gifted him, but had let some dribble down his chin and drip onto his chest. Greg huffed out a laugh but then set to work, licking it all up as he had promised. Sherlock kissed him eagerly, making a little face when Greg pulled back slightly. He took Greg's hand and led it toward his groin. 

" _Hurts_ , Daddy. Make it better. Please." 

Greg hummed and peeked over Sherlock's shoulder at John, who was just lying flat on his back, his chest still heaving as his limbs twitched with the odd aftershock. "Are you going to make room for baby, Papa?" 

John sighed dramatically and lifted Sherlock off of him reluctantly, scooting back on his bum a bit. Sherlock sat in between his spread thighs and giggled when he leant back down against John's chest, cheerfully using him as a human recliner. John pushed himself up on his elbows and eyed Greg balefully. "Does that work for you, Daddy?"

Greg pulled Sherlock's knees apart and settled down, licking a long stripe up his pulsing cock. Sherlock keened desperately and clutched at John's legs for support. " _Mm_. I'll say it does." Greg set to work, gently lifting Sherlock's bollocks out of the way with one hand and slowly working his cock with the other while he licked and sucked and wriggled his tongue deep into Sherlock's well-used arsehole. 

Sherlock gasped and squealed, writhing against John manically. "Daddy Daddy, _please_..." Greg firmly set his tongue in deep and hummed. Sherlock yelped, and Greg couldn't help but chuckle in response, setting off a series of low panting moans. There was a minute touch of trembling fingers over the hand that was fisting Sherlock's cock, but the touch quickly disappeared as John snatched at Sherlock's hand.

"Naughty baby. Daddy said not to touch."

Sherlock whined. "But it _hurts_... _Daddy_... Please oh _please_..."

Greg took pity and worked his way up, nibbling lightly at Sherlock's bollocks before licking a long wet stripe up his cock. He closed his mouth around the head and hummed again, keeping himself still as Sherlock thrust up erratically. Greg slipped two fingers deep into his arse and circled his fingertips against Sherlock's prostate gently. It took all of five strokes before Sherlock was quaking underneath him, chin pulled down to his chest and muscles rigid as he came explosively. 

Greg licked and sucked until no trace remained. He let Sherlock's legs slump to the floor and then crawled over his body, gently taking his face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Such a _good_ boy." 

Sherlock pulled him down, wrapping his arms around him tightly and sighing in contentment. "Thank you, Daddy..." 

John grunted quietly from the bottom of the pile. "Hate to ruin the moment, m'lads, but Papa's finding it a _little_  difficult to breathe."

_"Oh, Papa!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet conversation between Daddy and Papa...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is some of the angst that I mentioned a while back. I had put off posting this chapter and the next because I hadn't yet revealed that Mycroft was to become a semi-permanent fixture of the household. But now that Greg and Mycroft have admitted their feelings for one another in Part 4, I am finally able to post the additional chapters. Yay!

Sherlock released Greg and unceremoniously shoved at his chest. Greg huffed and levered his weight off of his lovers and settled back on his heels. Sherlock sat up and turned to John, pulling him up into a tight embrace.

"Papa, Papa... Are you okay?"

" _Oof._ Perfectly well, baby. Fucking fantastic, actually. My back may not love me in the morning, but that's the price we sometimes pay for an incredible shag..."

Sherlock sat back and cocked his head. "Oh." He turned a confused look on Greg, who shrugged.

"Papa's trying to be funny, I think."

"Oh, fuck you, Daddy."

Greg grinned at John easily. "Think I've had quite enough of that for one night."

John grinned back. "You? Never."

Greg stood, a little shakily. "My knees disagree." John broke out into tired little giggles and Greg quickly followed suit, Sherlock's head swivelling between the pair in consternation. Greg held out a hand and helped him to his feet before doing the same for John. He pulled them both into him, wrapping his right arm around Sherlock's waist and his left around John's shoulders.

They stood quietly for a long while, steadily taking in each other's breaths, feeling each other's heat and heartbeats. Then Sherlock yawned hugely, laying his head on Greg's shoulder.

"Tired, Daddy."

"I'm sure you are, baby." John reached up and touched Sherlock's cheek gently. "It has been quite an exciting evening for you, hasn't it?"

"Oh _yes_ , Papa."

Greg released them and gave them both a little shove toward the shower. "Go on, then. I'll be fine with just a quick wipe, but you two are just too messy." Greg 'tsk'ed ineffectually as John rolled his eyes and started the shower. He tossed Greg one of the flannels from their earlier bath as he clambered into the tub, pulling Sherlock in after him.

Greg wiped himself down thoroughly and then proceeded to clean his teeth, turning to watch as John gently scrubbed Sherlock from top to toe. He ducked out into the hallway briefly, pulling some clean towels from the linen cupboard. Greg looked at the small mound of soiled towels on the floor and sighed.

John followed his gaze and smiled. "Tomorrow, love. Laundry can always be postponed."

"Love you, Papa."

"Oh, I know, Daddy."

Greg grinned and held a towel open as Sherlock stepped out of the shower. Sherlock all but threw himself into Greg's arms, and he staggered back slightly as he wrapped the towel around him. His wet hair dripped down Greg's back as Sherlock buried his nose in his neck. _"Daddydaddydaddy..."_

"Yes, baby, I'm here." He rubbed the towel wherever he could easily reach, ruffling at Sherlock's curls. After drying him as well as he could, he tucked the towel around Sherlock's waist and led him to the sink. "Now you clean your teeth, and Daddy's gonna get your jim-jams." There was an indistinct snort of laughter from the direction of the shower and Greg grinned. "I'll get yours too, Papa. Don't want anybody catching cold, now."

He came back to find John at the sink, cleaning his teeth. Sherlock was sitting on the closed toilet, his head pillowed on the crook of his elbow, which was resting on the countertop. Sherlock blinked sleepily as Greg crouched by his feet, slipping some pyjama bottoms over his legs. "Hup, baby. C'mon..." The gangly limbs twitched as he stood, and he yawned again, his face nearly cracking in half.   
   
Greg chuckled and became aware of John watching them in the bathroom mirror, his toothbrush simply dangling from his mouth. There was something in his eyes that gave Greg pause - something a little sad, maybe even a bit lost. He finished buttoning Sherlock's top and turned to him, gathering John up and kissing his forehead. "D'ya want me to help you dress too?"   
   
John pushed at his chest with a little growl, divesting himself of his toothbrush and wiping his mouth. He threw on his nightclothes and led the way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, pulling down the duvet and waiting for Sherlock to clamber in. He did so with a happy little hum, settling down in the middle of the bed.  
   
Greg tucked himself in behind Sherlock, smiling at John as he got in on the other side, turning to face them both, propping himself up on one elbow. Sherlock hummed again, settling back against Greg's chest. Greg watched as John trailed his fingers along Sherlock's skin, a wistful expression on his lovely face. He reached out to capture John's hand.

"John." Greg rubbed circles on his lover's hand with his thumb. "We could, you know. If - if you really wanted..."

John looked at him quizzically before smiling sadly. "I think we're a little past our prime parenting years, Greg. Besides, our - situation - it's not really something the adoption agencies find to be optimal. You'd be brilliant at it, though."

Greg smiled at John's odd compliment. "We could find a surrogate." Greg stroked Sherlock's head. "Could you imagine a little girl with a head full of these curls?"

"Or with your luscious dark eyes? I can, Greg. I have." John shuffled closer, leaning his forehead into Greg's over Sherlock's limp form. "The way we live, the way we are, we can't offer a child the stability that he or she would deserve. You know that just as well as I do."

"Mycroft? He has resources."

"Mycroft's a big fat _meanie_." Sherlock's voice was muffled and quiet, but both men heard him distinctly. John huffed out a laugh as Greg leant over to kiss Sherlock's temple.

"No, he isn't, baby. He's your big brother, and he looks after you as best as he can. I think you're awfully mean to him, and I don't know why. He loves you terribly." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and reached out to fist his hands into John's vest, pulling him closer and burying his face into his neck.

John sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's okay, baby. Go to sleep, now."

After a moment, he leant back and resumed his conversation with Greg in a whisper. "What, the Holmes legacy? 24-hour nannies and boarding schools? Mycroft and Sherlock are both remarkable men, but I wouldn't say that was a result of their upbringing. From what I've been able to glean, I'd say that it was actually in spite of it."

Greg sighed and John tilted his head at him, studying his lover's face. "I didn't think you wanted kids, Greg."

"I didn't. I mean, the idea was there, but in more of a vague, abstract sense, y'know? It wasn't until I was with you - when I saw the way you'd sometimes watch the kids in the park, or coo at the babes in their prams..."

"I do not _coo_ , Gregory."

"You most certainly do, Captain Watson. At dark-haired babies with bright blue eyes especially."

John smiled, looking down at the dark-haired man curled up in the middle of their bed. "He must have been the most beautiful child."

Greg reached out to grasp at John's hand. "I just wanted you to know, John. That if you wanted to, I would. Now, ten years from now, when I'm sixty - whenever. We would find a way to make it work. If you think something's missing... I - I don't want you to be unhappy."  
   
John's hand squeezed back. "Greg. Oh, my love. I could never be unhappy with you. Never." He smiled through the tears that threatened to fall. "Besides, we already have a little boy to take care of, don't we?" 

"He's perfectly capable of looking after himself." Greg looked down at the jumble of long limbs and dark curls. "Most days, anyway."

John sniffled a bit as he chuckled quietly. "Speaking of Mycroft, isn't this one of his nights?"

"Aw _shite_. Where's my phone?"

"In your mack, love. Where you usually leave it until the battery dies and the blasted thing starts beeping in the middle of the night, why?"

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "Bit of a sore spot, Papa?" John grimaced. "I'll try to be better about charging it. Just for you. Obviously you need your beauty sleep." John rolled his eyes as Greg grinned at him brightly. "Just thought I'd phone and cancel. It's not like I need his services tonight. Besides, Sherlock needs us."

"I can look after him, Greg. I think it might be nice for you and My to have some time together when you aren't fucking like bunnies."

"Are you sending me off to snuggle in the arms of another man? John Watson, I am _shocked_."

"Maybe I just want to inflict your horrendous snoring on that other man. So he knows what he's really in for if he decides to stick around." John smirked and laid his head down on his pillow, trying not to disturb Sherlock's slumber. "We'll be fine, Greg. You and My are still finding your way. We understand."

"You understand, John. I'm not so sure about Baby."

"He understands more than either of us give him credit for, Greg. Really, it's okay. Away with you."

Greg propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at the pair of them, Sherlock's face tucked into the hollow of John's throat, John's lips pressed to Sherlock's forehead. "You two do look awfully cosy together."

John smiled faintly, his eyes beginning to droop with sleep. Greg leant over to kiss Sherlock's cheek and John turned his head so Greg could capture his lips briefly. "Goodnight, Daddy."

Greg chuckled into John's mouth. "Goodnight, Papa." He slipped out from behind Sherlock and pulled the duvet over both of them before grabbing both phone and charger. Greg headed up the attic stairs, wearing nothing but his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft reveals a bit of the Holmes brothers' past...

Mycroft entered the attic room to find Gregory already sitting up in bed, reading one of his ghastly noir murder mysteries. He put his overnight bag on the desk chair and started to undress. Greg paused in his reading to watch as Mycroft exposed himself, his multiple layers being stripped away and hung up methodically.  
   
Mycroft cocked his head as he worked on the buttons of his shirt, studying Greg closely. "Gregory, my dear. Are you quite all right? You look somewhat...shellshocked."  
   
Greg swallowed and shook his head. "I - I'm not actually sure."  
   
Mycroft's eyes narrowed minutely as his lips twisted in a slight smirk. "You uncovered his Daddy kink."  
   
"Oh, _God_." Greg let out a shuddering breath and drew his knees up to his chest.  
   
"I thought it might manifest itself eventually." Mycroft's eyebrow quirked and he smiled slowly. "Surely it wasn't all that traumatic."  
   
Greg unfolded himself with a heavy sigh. "Well, it was, and it wasn't. It was very sudden and very _very_ unexpected." He watched some more as Mycroft shook out his navy silk pyjamas and slipped them on. "How did you even know?"  
   
Mycroft sat on the edge of the bed and smirked again. "You said it yourself, Gregory. We have very nearly the same mind, after all." Greg blanched slightly, and Mycroft chuckled. "Mine, of course, is just another aspect of the unequal power play that I'm rather fond of." Greg relaxed. "Sherlock's is rooted a bit deeper, I believe. I'm quite certain that he's completely unaware of it." He looked at Greg seriously. "He most likely won't remember any of it by tomorrow, or if he does, he'll steadfastly refuse to acknowledge it. But he will also be more docile for the next few days, and far more agreeable."  
   
Greg reached out and pulled Mycroft in closer, slipping his hands underneath his pyjama top and pulling it up over his head. Mycroft sighed with fond exasperation as Greg reached up and ruffled at his hair before pulling him down, bringing his back to his chest. Greg hummed contentedly and put his nose to the back of Mycroft's neck, breathing him in deeply.  
   
"That kind of knowledge speaks of experience, pet."  
   
Mycroft wriggled uneasily, settling himself into Greg's body heat. "It was just after our father had - passed. I came home from school for the funeral. He was ten, I had just turned seventeen. He was being perfectly _frightful_. I can look back on it now, and of course I can see why he was acting out. But at the time... I had suddenly been put in the position of being the head of the Holmes family. I felt that I had to establish my control, or some utterly foolish nonsense. And after all, I was little more than a child myself." Mycroft sighed as Greg pulled him in tighter. "After a particularly odious outburst on his part, I snapped a bit, I'm afraid. Threw him over my shoulder and carried him off to his room."  
   
Greg chuckled. "That must have been a sight."  
   
"Mummy was appalled. But then, she had been appalled with his behaviour as well... It wasn't exactly our finest moment. It was my intention to lock him in his room until he had calmed himself. But he just kept carrying on, screaming and throwing things - a proper tantrum. I lost my patience, and took him over my knee." Mycroft squirmed again, and Greg could feel the furious blush heating his flesh. "I - I allowed myself to lose control. I don't know how many times I hit him, I just know that he went completely limp, and that it felt so good to be able to let out my frustrations and sorrow and anger. All on that tiny, frail body. I felt quite monstrous when I came back to myself, even though there were no visible marks or bruising. And Sherlock - well, he seemed catatonic. I thought that I had perhaps hurt him rather badly, until I noticed the - well - rather large mess on the front of his trousers."  
   
"Oh God. Poor pet." Greg ran a hand through Mycroft's hair. "No wonder it was buried so deep. Only ten - probably his first, and with his brother..."  
   
Mycroft cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I - I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go to Mummy, of course. So I just cleaned him up and put him to bed. He only called me 'Daddy' once, and that was when I was pulling the covers up."  
   
"Tucking him in."  
   
" _Mm_. I - I laid down in bed next to him, and he just snuggled right up to me. He never - " Mycroft swallowed. "He had never shown me that kind of affection before, or since. How could I not take advantage of that moment? I lay awake the whole night, holding that sleeping boy, that dreadful angel, in my arms." Mycroft shifted, turning to bury his face in Greg's chest. "I love him so deeply, Gregory. And he hates me. I pretend to hate him back, to allow him to justify his horrible behaviour. Sometimes I think it all goes back to that moment. He hates me because I hurt him, and he's afraid I'll do it again."  
   
"Mycroft, he doesn't hate you. It's just - complicated." Mycroft huffed into Greg's chest, expressing his frustrations silently. "You were the nearest thing to a father he had, after... I imagine he was petrified that you would abandon him as well."  
   
"I did abandon him, Gregory. After I began my work, when he was slowly killing himself with those poisons. I thought he would be able pull himself out of it, because I believed that he was better than that, and I had far more 'important' things to deal with." The scorn in Mycroft's voice was palpable, and Greg squeezed him tighter. "You saved him, Gregory. I will be forever grateful to you for that." Mycroft's grey eyes locked onto Greg's with sincere gratitude. "We both owe you so much."  
   
Greg smiled gently and threaded his fingers through Mycroft's soft red hair. "Is that why you came to me? Are you bartering your body to pay off your debt?" He grinned as Mycroft's serious look dissolved into one of wicked delight.  
   
Mycroft gave him a little shove. "No, you damn fool. I came to you because the time was finally right." The seriousness returned as his eyes darted down and back up again. "I've wanted you for a very long time, Gregory. Almost as long as Sherlock."  
   
"I know, pet." Mycroft tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow. "I saw it on your face the first time we met. Your face, and well - other bits, of course." Greg grinned wickedly.

Mycroft chuckled low. "You startled me. Well, I should say that my reaction to you startled me."

"Yeah, it wasn't exactly subtle. But I had just started exploring that side of myself, and I was kinda-sorta seeing someone, and well - Sherlock. I knew that you and I would have to work together on that little issue, and that perhaps it was better if we weren't involved, y'know?"

"It was the right decision, Gregory." Mycroft trailed his fingers down Greg's spine. "Sherlock deserved you more than I did." He sighed, warm breath tickling through Greg's chest hair. "Granted, I didn't expect you two to take quite so long to get together. It has been - difficult for me."  
   
"You haven't been alone that whole time."  
   
"It may have been better for me if I was." Greg held him tighter, burying his nose in his soft red hair. "I haven't always made the wisest decisions in matters of the heart."  
   
"What makes me any different? You have my love, but if it came down to you or your little brother..."  
   
"You would choose Sherlock, as well you should. I love you dearly, but he needs you more than I do, Gregory. In many ways, he will always be that terribly bright but terribly confused little boy." Mycroft smiled sadly. "He will always need his daddy."  
   
Greg chuckled. "Well, by my last count, he has three. One Daddy, one Papa and one - well, Uncle. How's that? I do believe that he'll be well taken care of for a number of years to come." He hummed as Mycroft nuzzled into his chest. "Did you two ever talk about what had happened?"  
   
"Never. At first I thought it was because of embarrassment, but as time went on I came to realise that he truly did not remember what had happened. It appeared to send him into a bit of a fugue state, Gregory. It was almost... Almost like a split personality." He smiled gently. "I don't think that you'll be traumatised like that very often - I believe circumstances must be just right."  
   
"Hm. That was the aspect that bothered me the most, to be honest. Not being sure if he was fully present, if he was really okay with what was going on." Greg blushed faintly. "I actually kinda got into the whole 'Daddy' thing after a while." He grinned crookedly at Mycroft's quiet giggles before sobering slightly. "Can I share your story with John? It may help us both to understand a bit better."  
   
"Oh, of course, Gregory. In fact - " There was a quiet hesitation, a sudden tension in the body nestled into his, and Mycroft cleared his throat before looking up at Greg under his pale red lashes a little bashfully. "In fact - I wouldn't mind if you were to share everything with John."  
   
Greg grinned brightly. "Oh, you little devil... I thought you were a one-man pet."  
   
Mycroft pushed himself up on one elbow. "I am! I _belong_ to you, Gregory. So if you were to, well - order me to, oh, I don't know, service John, then I would just _have_ to, wouldn't I?" He blinked at Greg innocently. "Following orders is what I do, Gregory."  
   
Greg laughed again. "We'll see, pet. I have offered, and he does seem intrigued - especially after I told him how clever your tongue really is. But he would feel terribly guilty if Sherlock found out, and you know he would."  
   
Mycroft pouted prettily. "It's not like I'd keep him, Gregory. It would be a treat, that's all." He licked his lips. "A treat for both of us."  
   
Greg grinned wickedly. "He is a tasty little bastard." He pondered, tilting his head to look Mycroft over carefully. "He does have a birthday coming up... 42."  
   
Mycroft's eyes lit up. "Oh, but that's the most important birthday of all! The Ultimate Answer..."  
   
"To the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything?"  
   
Mycroft giggled, and Greg's eyebrows threatened to climb into his hair. "Yes! Oh _so_ important - he deserves something special, don't you think?"  
   
"Pet. You're...giggling." Mycroft put a hand to his mouth. "That's rather - nice, actually. A little bit freaky, but nice." Greg chuckled as he pulled Mycroft back down, soothing a hand down his back and delighting in the little tremors in his skin as Mycroft calmed himself. "I'll tell him about your offer. If he's serious about considering it, he will most likely bring it up with Sherlock. So if there's extra tension the next time you're around, you'll know why."  
   
Mycroft quieted. "Yes, Gregory. If my offer does not suffice, I would be more than happy to treat everyone to dinner..."  
   
"John doesn't really want a fuss, so I imagine going out to the Savoy or some other swank place would make him rather uncomfortable. He did rather enjoy your roast the other day, though..."  
   
"Oh, I would love to cook for him! For you. For everyone." Mycroft cleared his throat. "You know what I mean."  
   
Greg settled back on his pillow, wrapping an arm around Mycroft's waist. "I do, pet. You seem a bit - energetic. You feeling all right?"  
   
"I think that, perhaps, sharing that story with you has unburdened me somewhat. I feel - lighter."  
   
Greg hummed a little unhappily. "Wish I had the energy to do something with your energy..."  
   
Mycroft giggled again before slapping a hand over his own mouth and swallowing his laughter. "You've had quite a day, Gregory. It's all right. You told me from the beginning that you might only need to hold me. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I do believe that I've come to need that just as much as the other. I mean, there's nothing I'd love more right now than to just swallow you down and let you fuck my mouth until you're completely spent, but of course you are completely spent, aren't you? Poor Daddy, having to punish his Baby like that..."  
   
Greg groaned and grabbed the back of Mycroft's head, pushing his face into his chest. "Quiet, pet. Right now, Daddy needs his quiet time. _Quiet_ , yeah?"  
   
 _"Mrmph."_ Mycroft nodded, and Greg released him. Mycroft sighed and extricated himself from Greg's arms.  
   
"Where are you off to?"  
   
Mycroft rolled his eyes with a little smile. "If I'm not going to suck you, then I should clean my teeth. Dental hygiene is very important, Gregory."  
   
Greg huffed out a breath and fell back onto his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the faint sound of running water. Then there was darkness as Mycroft flipped off the lights and climbed back into bed. Greg frowned as he realised that he had slipped his pyjama top back on, but quickly fell into black oblivion as sleep overtook him.  
   
Mycroft shifted slightly as Greg started to snore softly. Instantly, Gregory wrapped himself around his back and pulled Mycroft in close. He murmured softly into his hair, and Mycroft tilted his head as Gregory tightened his arm around his waist. "My-Mycroft. Hm. Yes, pet." A soft sigh. "Oh, yes."  
   
Mycroft hummed as his own eyes closed. "Yes, my Gregory. Always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft play...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just posting a little bit of Greg as Daddy and Mycroft as Mycie, doing some light-hearted play of their own.

Mycroft awoke almost unreasonably early, as was his body's custom. He shifted slightly against Gregory's body, smiling as the arm draped over his waist tightened and pulled him in even closer. The smile widened as Greg grunted softly and tilted his hips, pressing his stiffening cock into the cleft of Mycroft's arse. Oh, how lovely... It seemed that he'd be able to make up for his lack of ability to please Gregory last night, and perhaps even have a little fun himself.

He turned in Gregory's arms and propped himself up on one elbow, watching with delight as Greg's eyes fluttered and he smiled faintly. "Hullo, pet." Mycroft's heart stuttered at the sight of Gregory's sleep-rumpled form, silver hair sticking up in every direction, dark eyes heavy and lidded. Greg reached up to run his thumb over Mycroft's cheek before pulling him down for a quiet kiss.

Mycroft pulled back with a quiet hum and winked down at him. " _Daddy_... You were poking me. You woke me up!" He widened his eyes slightly and pouted.

Greg's brow furrowed slightly, but cleared when he saw the glint of amusement in Mycroft's grey eyes, the ever-so-tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. "All right, pet. Let's play." He stretched languidly, pressing his now fully-hard cock into Mycroft's hip. "Sorry, Mycie. Daddy really din't mean to wake you."

Mycroft swallowed his eagnerness at the sound of the childish nickname. "What is it, Daddy? It's so _hard_..."

"Well, it's something that happens to Daddies sometimes. Especially when we wake up next to someone nice and warm and soft." Greg ruffled Mycroft's hair and smiled indulgently. "When you're a big boy, it will happen to you too."

"Can I - may I see?"

"Of course you may." Greg laid back as Mycroft sat up and pulled the duvet down to his knees. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down his own body, where just the head of his cock was peeking out of the flap of his boxers.

"Oh." Mycroft frowned slightly, as if in disappointment.

Greg chuckled. "Go on, Mycie. Pull Daddy's pants down, take a proper look. You're allowed."

Mycroft swallowed nervously and hooked his fingers in the waistband of Greg's boxers and pulled. Greg hummed in approval as he lifted his hips, his cock bouncing free and bobbing up to smack him gently on his lower belly. "All the way off, there's a good boy." Mycroft obliged, sliding Greg's pants all the way down his legs and off, dropping them over the side of the bed.

"Ooh. It's so _big_ , Daddy." Mycroft looked up at Greg, where he had propped his head up on a pile of pillows. "Mine won't ever get that big."

"Hm. Maybe not quite as big, but you'll just have to wait until you grow up to find out." Greg watched as Mycroft's fingers twitched. "Mycie? Do you want to touch it?"

Mycroft looked at him uncertainly. "I - I don't know."

"Nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. Touch me, Mycie. Feel how hard Daddy is for you."

"For _me_?" Mycroft's voice squeaked adorably and Greg simply had to grin at him.

"Oh, yes. Just for you, my pretty boy."

Mycroft's fingers trembled as he reached for Greg's cock, caressing it uncertainly. "Do you really think I'm pretty, Daddy?"

"I do. Very much." Greg rocked his hips gently. "Squeeze it, Mycie."

"Like this?" Mycroft wrapped his fingers around Greg's cock and tightened his grip ever so lightly.

"Harder." Greg groaned as Mycroft closed his fist around him firmly. "Yes, Mycie. Just like that. _Mm._ Now stroke."

"I don't understand, Daddy." Mycroft cocked his head to the side inquisitively. Greg looked at him and marvelled at the attention to detail that he was employing. He truly looked and sounded like a confused child, nervous and yet excited.

"Move your hand up and down. Keep squeezing." Greg groaned again as Mycroft stroked him inexpertly.

"Does - does it feel good?"

"Oh yes, my pretty one. There's a way to make it feel better, though."

"How?"

Greg hesitated. "I don't know if I should tell you, Mycie. A lot of people don't think that Daddies and little boys should play these kinds of games together. We might get in trouble if you tell."

"I won't tell, Daddy. Please, I want to know how to make you feel good. Really good."

Greg tilted his head and squinted, appearing to consider Mycroft's request seriously. "Okay. Come up here for a bit." Mycroft laid back down at Greg's side, and Greg reached up to ruffle at his hair and nose at his neck briefly. "Now, you must promise me. Never _ever_ tell. And don't play this way with anyone else, okay? This is just a game we play. Daddy and Mycie only. Yeah?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Tell me, please."

Greg grinned and put his mouth to Mycroft's ear. "Use your mouth, Mycie. Your mouth and your tongue. Kiss it. Lick it."

Mycroft's eyes were comically huge when Greg pulled back to look at him. "Like a lolly?" His voice squeaked again, and Greg chuckled.

"Sort of. Here, give me your hand. I'll show you." He took Mycroft's hand and carefully straightened out the index and middle fingers, holding them together. "Now pay attention..." Greg put Mycroft's fingers to his mouth, sliding them in and out before sticking out his tongue and licking from base to tip. He swirled and licked and sucked until Mycroft's fingers were coated with his spit. Mycroft's mouth was hanging open slightly and his eyes had gone even wider, the pupil slowly expanding. "You see?"

Mycroft nodded, looking terribly nervous. "I - I think so, Daddy."

"Just go slow, sweetheart. Daddy's not going to hurt you." Greg cupped Mycroft's chin and tipped his face up for a kiss. He started out relatively chaste, but had soon insinuated his tongue into Mycroft's mouth, exploring and tasting him thoroughly.

"Oh, Daddy. Does it feel that good?"

"Even better, Mycie. So _much_ better." Mycroft started to shift downward in the bed. "Wait, honey. You might want to take your top off." Mycroft frowned. "It can be messy, sometimes."

"Messy how?"

"You'll see, pretty one. Daddy'll warn you when it's about to happen, so if you don't want it in your mouth, stop licking when I say so, okay?" Mycroft's frown deepened, as did the wrinkle in between his eyes. "Trust Daddy, Mycie."

"Okay." Mycroft's voice was tiny and quiet. He sat up and pulled his pyjama top over his head, leaving his hair ruffled and messy.

Greg sighed. "You really are very pretty, Mycie. Daddy loves to look at you."

Mycroft blushed bright pink as he settled between Greg's spread thighs. "Thank you, Daddy." He laid down on his stomach and bent his knees, lifting his feet in the air and swinging them slightly. Greg chuckled as Mycroft eyed his cock somewhat dubiously. "I don't think it will fit, Daddy."

"You'd be surprised, Mycie. Use your hand too. That way you won't be tempted to try to stuff too much of it in your mouth. You do tend to get a bit overenthusiastic when treats are put in front of you..."

Mycroft pouted. "Not my fault that cream cakes are so tasty."

"Wouldn't kill you to slow down, sweetheart. Nobody is going to take away your dessert, so you don't have to shove it all in there at once. You always end up such a mess."

Mycroft looked down slightly before looking up at Greg beneath his lashes. "But if I didn't make a mess, then you wouldn't have to clean me up, Daddy. And I like it when you clean me up."

Greg grinned crookedly. It seemed that he may have to pilfer a box of Sherlock's blasted cream cakes to incorporate into their next game. Mycroft's persona slipped ever-so-slightly as he saw Greg's intention in his face, and the corner of his mouth turned up minutely.

"Shall I tell you a little secret?" Mycroft nodded eagerly. "I like it when I get to clean you up, too." Mycroft let a little delighted squeal escape his mouth. "Now, stop teasing Daddy. Lick me, honey. Make me feel good."

Mycroft tilted his head and then stuck out his tongue, cautiously bending down to touch just the tip of his tongue to the head of Greg's cock. He drew back as Greg moaned, his grey eyes darting to his face. Greg smiled and nodded encouragingly. Seemingly emboldened, Mycroft bent down once more and licked all the way from the base to the crown.

Greg moaned again. "Just like that, Mycie. Don't be afraid to go a little lower, sweetheart."

Mycroft plucked at his bollocks gently. "These too? You like them to be licked, Daddy?"

"Oh, yes. And sucked. And, well...nibbled." Greg lifted his head and looked at Mycroft seriously. " _Gently_ , honey."

Mycroft's lips curled up in a foolish grin. "I'll be careful, Daddy."

Greg sighed as Mycroft's tongue licked at his bollocks tentatively. "Mycie... My pretty boy." Mycroft drew one into his mouth and suckled at it, making obscene slurping noises. Greg chuckled quietly as he moved to the other one, making just as much noise and humming with delight.

"I like playing with these, Daddy. They're so squishy!"

Greg laughed aloud. "I'm glad, sweetheart. I like you playing with them, too."

Mycroft hummed again and then worked his way back up to Greg's cock, wrapping one hand around it before placing his lips at the head. He moved his hand up and down clumsily while sucking. Greg groaned and rolled his hips, driving it in a little deeper. Mycroft pulled off, breathing through his mouth as he ran both hands up and all the way down, fondling his bollocks as well as his shaft.

"Daddy? Is it working? Do you feel good?"

"Yes, Mycie. So good. Put your mouth back on me, sweetheart. Let me do most of the work, okay? Just keep your mouth on me and suck, darling." Mycroft nodded uncertainly, but obediently wrapped his lips back around his Daddy's cock, sucking lightly as Greg thrust up gently. "That's it. Just like that, my _good_ boy." Mycroft continued to roll and press and tug at Greg's bollocks with his hands as Greg steadily fucked his mouth. "Yes, oh _yes_. Move your fingers a little lower, sweetheart. Ah, _God!_ Just there, yes _there_. Rub, darling boy. Rub hard. Suck hard. _Harder!_ "

Mycroft complied, like an obedient child, rubbing behind Greg's bollocks and sucking as hard as he was able, breathing in through his nose. Greg's hand reached out to clutch at Mycroft's hair as his bollocks pulled up. " _Harder!_ Oh God - watch out, Mycie - it's happening..." Greg thrust into Mycroft's hot mouth one more time, the beginnings of his orgasm ripping through his body. "Pull off, Mycie, _pull off_!"

Mycroft sputtered as Greg came hard, his mouth filling with his release. He pulled off after the first spurt, watching with wide eyes as Greg's cock twitched and pulsed, more white fluid oozing from the head. Greg smiled down at him as his stomach muscles clenched and there was yet another spurt.

"Daddy, what _is_ that?"

Greg laughed at the tone of Mycroft's voice, intrigued and yet repulsed. "It has a lot of names, sweetheart. What it is, however, is proof positive that you made Daddy feel very, _very_ good."

Mycroft ran his fingers through it and brought them up to his face. He sniffed at them, and then licked cautiously. "I'm not sure I like it..."

"That's all right, honey. It is a bit of an acquired taste. Daddy likes it very much."

Mycroft's nose wrinkled and he wiped his fingers on his bare chest. Greg's breath hitched as he did the same with the rest, wiping it up with his fingers and depositing it on his own flesh. "Daddy's _messy_." 

"I said as much, didn't I?" Mycroft nodded and frowned. "Come on up here, sweetheart." Mycroft got to his hands and knees and crawled over to Greg's side. Greg took him under the arms and laid him down on his back, leaning over to lick up the mess that was drying on Mycroft's skin. "Hm. Daddy might need to give you a bath, Mycie."

Mycroft squirmed with delight. "I like bathtime, Daddy."

"Oh, I know you do, my darling boy." Greg gathered Mycroft up in his arms and cradled him gently. "You did well, Mycie. I'm very proud of you." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Would you like to do that again?"

"Oh, yes Daddy. I want to practice so I'm really good at it."

"You like being really good at things, I know."

Mycroft's fingers trailed along Greg's jawline, his short nails scraping against the stubble that had sprouted up overnight. "Are there other games we can play?"

"Oh, Mycie. So many. But that's for another day, all right?"

Mycroft hummed and nosed into Greg's chest as his eyes grew heavy with sleep. He turned closer into his Daddy's body and smiled as he felt the weight of one of Greg's legs settling over his hips. "Yes, Daddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another morning in 221B... Mycroft soothes Greg's uncertainty about playing Daddy. And then there's more playtime, because why the hell not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter after this will deal with some of the tension building between Sherlock and Mycroft. Hope you all stick around for it!
> 
> ;-p
> 
> As always, please do let me know how I'm doing...

They awoke after a pleasant nap, around eight-thirty or so. Mycroft found himself tucked up against Gregory's chest, his lover's arms wrapped firmly around him. Mycroft's own arms were wedged in between their bodies, and even as he shifted slightly, the leg that was resting on his hip came up and over his waist, tightening and pinning him rather securely. Mycroft could wriggle a bit, but that was about all.

He sighed blissfully, rubbing his nose into Gregory's chest hair. Perfect. Absolutely bloody perfect. Mycroft couldn't explain why being restricted gave him such comfort, he just knew that being immobilised, especially in this way, in the arms of his lover, was the most peaceful feeling in all the world. Of course, his legs were free; if he really wanted to, he could break away. But why would he ever want that?

Gregory stirred, his limbs tightening deliciously as he stretched against the body trapped in his arms. " _Mm_. Mornin', pet."

Mycroft sighed blissfully. "And a good morning to you, my dear Gregory."

Greg cleared his throat. "Earlier... Did I do well?"

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, even though he knew his face couldn't really be seen. "You wish a critique?"

"I've told you before, I'm relatively new at this. I need to know what I've done wrong so I can correct it."

"Gregory, nothing you do is ever wrong."

"Pet. Tell me honestly."

"I have only ever been honest. I have tremendously enjoyed every single thing we've done together. I do find it difficult to compare to prior experiences, just because you are an entirely different sort of man than those who came previously." Mycroft paused as he felt Gregory taking a deep breath. He could easily anticipate the question in his lover's mind, and hastened to relieve his uncertainty. "No, not different-bad, don't be absurd. Different in a good way. A very, very good way. Those other men were - "

Greg could practically feel Mycroft thinking, carefully choosing just the right words, and he kept quiet, letting him work it out in his head. He squeezed him tighter still, relishing the little squeak and gusty sigh it elicited.

" _Mm_. They were dominant simply for dominance's sake. They enjoyed the power I gave them and used me as they wished, and although I was happy with that for the most part, there was always something lacking. I didn't entirely understand it until I started watching you with Sherlock. You are a very dominant man, Gregory. Make no mistake about that. But you are also caring. You guide, you teach. You take care of your charges. That was the piece that was missing for me, the piece I didn't even know I needed."

"So me playing Daddy was...?"

Mycroft chuckled quietly. "Not really playing at all. You _were_  my Daddy, just the Daddy I needed. You had the authority, but also the tenderness that Mycie required. You told me exactly what to do and how to do it, and expected that I would obey without question, because that is the kind of child I am. The others never saw that. They looked for arbitrary reasons to punish me, simply because they wanted to hurt me. You only discipline me if you feel it is absolutely necessary, and I happily take whatever punishment you mete out, because I know that it truly was deserved. That is how you are different, Gregory. You fill the void that the others left behind."

"I don't know about that, pet. I find that I do rather enjoy taking my hand to your behind, for no reason whatsoever."

Greg smirked as he felt sudden heat in the face pressed up against his chest. "Again, that's different, Gregory. That isn't punishment, it's a reward." Mycroft cleared his throat quietly. "For, _um_ , both of us." He sighed as Greg bent slightly to kiss the top of his head. Mycroft couldn't prevent a little whine from escaping as Greg slowly unwound his limbs, releasing him.

The irrational feeling of loss didn't last long, as Greg pulled him into a sitting position, carefully arranging his arms behind his back before pushing him back down again, causing his torso to be effectively bound by his own body weight. Gregory didn't stop there, though, grasping him under the knees and pushing his legs up toward his chest. He slowly settled his weight down, sliding up until his elbows were under Mycroft's knees, lacing his fingers together over his chest and locking his legs in place while pressing his body down hard.

Mycroft could feel his prick hardening against the crack of his arse, and couldn't prevent a moan from escaping. He panted slightly, his contorted limbs and the weight of Gregory's body making breathing a trifle difficult. He tried to wriggle, to writhe against Gregory, giving him permission without saying a word, but he was completely, irrevocably trapped, and damn if it wasn't positively _glorious_. Mycroft managed to twiddle his toes a bit, to squeeze his knees against Gregory's ears, but that was about it.

Greg looked down on him with amusement, and more than a small measure of lust. "Oh, _pet_. You're in need of a nice, relaxing tie-down, aren't ya? And maybe when I've got you completely under my power, I'll bugger you silly."

Mycroft gasped and panted some more. "I am already in your power, Gregory. Utterly. You can do anything to me that you like. I swear."

"Even if it's just holding you like this and rubbing myself to completion on your heavenly silk-clad arse?" Greg emphasised with one long slow thrust, sliding his hard cock over covered hole, bollocks and cage.

"Yes, oh God, _yes_. Anything." Mycroft groaned as his captor continued to move above him, watching as the head of Greg's cock, just peeking out of the flap of his boxers, slid over his silk pyjamas. "Oh God, Gregory..."

_"Mm."_ Greg bit his lip and sighed with frustration. "Too smooth. Your jim-jams are just too fancy, pet."

Mycroft gasped again as Greg released him. "Strip me, then. My hands, my mouth. Take me, Gregory. However you choose. _Please_ , oh please..."

Greg smirked as he moved away, standing to slide his pants off and reach into the bedside drawer. "On your belly, hands on your head." Mycroft swiftly complied, wriggling slightly to get himself comfortable. His hands and arms were tingling a bit from having been held down, so he flexed the muscles gently, but he otherwise held himself as still as he could. Mycroft wriggled just a bit more as he felt Greg's hands travel up the backs of his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his clothing. Strong fingers hooked and tugged and finally stripped Mycroft free of all garments.

Mycroft sighed even as the chilly air of the room wafted over his bare flesh. He sighed because he knew that he wouldn't be chilly for long. Whenever Gregory had him like this, he could never seem to resist - oh, yes. Gregory's delicious body heat settled over the backs of his legs, and Mycroft shivered as he nosed along the crack of his arse. Fingertips slowly circled the mole on his left buttock, and he tensed as strong teeth closed down around it, biting hard. Then those wonderful teeth were replaced with a hot mouth, sucking, sucking hard while Gregory's ridiculously nimble tongue probed gently. Mycroft moaned even as he giggled a little. Some days he thought he may just wind up with a permanent discolouration around that damned mole, as Gregory seemed intent on somehow tattooing this mark upon his flesh with nothing more than his teeth.

Greg growled quietly as he gnawed on Mycroft's firm flesh. "Mine, pet. _All mine_."

"I do believe that we've established that fact quite firmly, Gregory. No need for you to chew holes in my posterior to prove the point."

Greg huffed as he sat up. He raised a hand and then brought it down on Mycroft's arse with a resounding smack. His pet groaned lustily even as his body jolted. Greg spanked him again, his erection twitching at yet another moan. "You love it when I mark you. You love it just as much as I do, if not more."

Mycroft tilted his hips up slightly. "I do, oh God, Gregory. I adore everything that you do to me." Another hard smack, and then strong rough hands kneading, pulling his arse-cheeks apart and pushing them together. Mycroft turned his head slightly, feeling a subtle change in Gregory's mood, having become somewhat contemplative. "Is there something wrong, my dear?"

Greg sighed as he lightly caressed the mark he had just renewed. "No, not really. I just - I want people to know, that's all. These marks, the cage and the key - they're all hidden. I want people to know that you're taken. That you're mine."

"People don't matter, Gregory. We both know who I belong to. That is all that matters."

Greg hummed as he straddled Mycroft's thighs and slowly lowered himself onto his back. He took Mycroft's hands from the top of his head and pressed them to the mattress, twining their fingers together. He squeezed the left gently, and Mycroft turned his head to look at their joined hands. The ring that Greg wore glinted in the early-morning light.

"Would you object to something more visible, pet? Would you consent to wear my ring, if I were to get one for you?"

Mycroft felt his whole body go limp, and there was a sharp pricking beneath his eyelids as he sighed. "Gregory, my dear. Oh, my love, nothing would give me greater pleasure." He writhed underneath his lover, gasping as Gregory thrust against his arse, a slow firm stroke between his cheeks. "But, um - oh sweet _Lord_... Might John or Sherlock object?"

Greg grunted as he continued to move steadily. "Doubtful. But, oh God, pet - Jesus, your arse truly is heavenly... _Mm_. You raise a good point. I - oh Jesus - I will be sure to - oh _fuck_ \- discuss it with them first."

Then there were no more words as Gregory shifted on top of him, grasping his hips hard, pushing his arse-cheeks together to give himself more leverage and friction. Mycroft moaned as he clutched at the bedsheets, his body jolting under his lover's sharp motions. Gregory grinned down at him, releasing one hip to trace the long line of Mycroft's spine as he dipped it, sticking his arse up to give him more access.

"You're so beautiful, Mycroft." He spoke through sharp gasps, feeling the first swirling warmth of his orgasm growing in his belly. "So fucking beautiful. Sometimes I can't believe you're mine at all."

"Oh, but Gregory... I _am_ yours. I have always been yours... And I always will be."

Greg sucked in a deep breath and thrust twice more before his bollocks pulled up tight and then released their load all over Mycroft's creamy backside. His pet moaned lustfully and writhed underneath him, throwing back his head as the hot semen splashed down on his skin. Greg sat up shakily, leaning his weight back on Mycroft's legs as he reached forward to rub a little into his flesh.

"Marking me, Gregory?" Mycroft giggled slightly as his lover bent down and began cleaning him up with long, slow strokes of his tongue.

"Oh, this is _nothing_ , pet. Just you wait until Wolfie comes out to play."

Mycroft moaned again, shivering under Greg's touch. "Oh my love..."

Greg hummed as he moved up Mycroft's body, and then snorted quietly. He nuzzled into the back of his head and sucked a lock of hair into his mouth. "You're gonna need a shower, pet. Apparently, I was a little - enthusiastic."

Mycroft dissolved into breathy little giggles, his body shaking quite delightfully under Gregory. "Oh, you beast." He bucked up slightly, and Greg rolled off so Mycroft could tuck himself into his arms. "After breakfast."

Greg nodded and sighed as he clutched his body tight. "Remember when you first came to me, pet? I practically had to order you to snuggle with me. And now you do it of your own accord." He kissed Mycroft's forehead gently. "Does it make you happy? I mean, are you doing it because you want to, and not just because you know I expect it?"

"The two are hardly exclusive, Gregory. I do it because you like it, and I like it because I get to be close to you. Snuggling never served a purpose, before you. Sometimes I think I never served a purpose before you."

"Oh, _pet_."

"Hush, Gregory. Come, let's get downstairs. I'm sure that both John and Sherlock will be quite hungry after all of the - activity - last night."

Greg snorted and allowed Mycroft to pull him up and out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock reveals his feelings, and is somewhat surprised by his lovers' reactions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, erm... More to come, of course. 
> 
> Do let me know what you think!

John shuffled into the kitchen and gave Mycroft his now customary kiss on the cheek before settling down next to Greg and leaning into him slightly. Greg kissed his temple.

"How's Papa this morning?" John quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Mycroft. "It's all right, love. He bloody well deduced it last night. Apparently based on nothing more than the look on my face." Greg cleared his throat. "And I got a bit of background..." He proceeded to tell John Mycroft's tale of Sherlock misbehaving after their father's death, and the subsequent punishment that Mycroft had meted out.

John nodded slightly as Mycroft put their plates in front of them, a slight flush to his cheeks. "It makes a bit more sense, now. Definitely well-buried, then. Poor Daddy was just a bit traumatised by it all, wasn't he?" Greg shoved John playfully as Mycroft reached across the table and snagged a piece of bacon, nibbling on it coquettishly.

"I wouldn't say so, no. I think Daddy did an admirable job." Mycroft winked at John before turning back to the counter, tending to the tea that John had already started.

Greg hummed and laughed at John's wide-eyed expression. "Mycie was very good for Daddy. In fact, he got a nice treat for being so good, didn't he, pet?"

"Indeed he did, Gregory."

John nudged Greg companionably as they dug into the plates in front of them eagerly. "You're a damn lucky man, Gregory Lestrade."

"Don't I fucking _know_ it. Shush, love, you'll jinx me or something."

John snorted as Mycroft set their tea in front of them with a small smile and turned back to the stove to start cooking up a second batch just as Sherlock shambled in, his eyes still glazed over with sleep. With barely a glance at either of his lovers, he went straight up to Mycroft and draped himself over his brother's back. John and Greg glanced at each other in surprise as Sherlock began to mutter something too low for either of them to hear.

"Oh, brother dear, brother mine... Oh, you smell like him and like you and it's _intoxicating_."

Mycroft tutted, barely holding himself together. "I smell like bacon grease and little else, Sherlock. And while I do agree that the aroma can be quite tempting, it should not inspire such a reaction as - that." He cocked his hip and shoved gently against the erection that Sherlock was subtly grinding into him. He hissed. "Contain yourself!"

Sherlock moaned quietly. "I can't."

"Then have Gregory or John or - both - tend to you and when your - situation - is resolved, come back out and have some breakfast. I am afraid that there is nothing that I am willing to do to alleviate your suffering."

"Mycroft, please."

"Sherlock." Mycroft put his spatula down decisively and turned to face his younger brother. He placed one hand on his chest and the other on the back of his neck, and keeping a decent amount of distance between their bodies, pulled Sherlock's forehead to his. This was a posture that they had adopted long ago when they were two lonely children seeking comfort and touch, with neither quite knowing how to go about it.

This was how Mycroft would lure a fussy baby brother to sleep, how they would escape their father's black moods, with Mycroft clutching Sherlock tight to his chest as they fled into the vast backyard of the manor. For years, if either of them was having a horrible day for one reason or another, they would seek out the other and silently lean in and they would touch, mind-to-mind, both of them taking solace the only way they understood.

Until Mycroft had ‘grown up’, becoming just another cold and impersonal adult in Sherlock’s life, shutting himself down to avoid the awkward emotions that his little brother inspired in him. It had been a very long time since the estranged siblings had been able to comfort each other in this manner, but since coming to Gregory and 221B, Mycroft had made every effort to reach out to his brother again.

Now he found himself wondering if he had unconsciously triggered these untoward feelings with nothing more than this simple touch. Had Sherlock simply misinterpreted, as had happened so often before? Or was he unconsciously picking up on the desires that Mycroft had suppressed for so long? He suspected that it may be a combination - with Sherlock still being relatively new to dealing with these kinds of emotions, his body was simply overriding his mind and reacting automatically.

Sherlock trembled slightly as he mimicked his brother's posture, one hand on his chest and the other cupping his neck. Mycroft sighed deeply. "I cannot, brother. Please understand. I simply cannot." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut tight and grimaced, pulling his lips back from his teeth. Without another sound he wrenched free from Mycroft's grip and fled down the hallway to the bedroom.

John and Greg sat staring, their mouths agape in astonishment as neither man was entirely sure what they had just witnessed. Moments ticked by as Mycroft turned back to the stove, his head bowed and shoulders slumped. After shaking off their shared fugue, John gave Greg a little push in the elder Holmes' direction, and went after Sherlock.

Greg ran his hand down Mycroft's back as he came up behind him. "Pet? Care to tell me what that was all about?"

Mycroft shook his head miserably. "I don't think I can, Gregory. I don't entirely understand it, and I'm not sure Sherlock does either. Go and speak with him, please." He picked up the spatula and poked at the mess in the pan. "I'll just - clean this up. I'm not very hungry after all..."

Greg eyed him with concern. "Pet, you don't look well. Sit down for a moment. Tidying can wait."

Mycroft smiled shakily and took Greg's advice, sinking down onto a stool at the table. "Go and see to Sherlock, Gregory. Please."

Greg took a moment to press a kiss to Mycroft's forehead, and then disappeared down the hallway. He found Sherlock curled up in the middle of the bed, John sitting at his back and running his fingers through his hair. John looked up when Greg entered, shrugging in bewilderment. Greg sighed and closed the door before stretching out on the bed on Sherlock's other side.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing." Sherlock's voice was low and petulant.

"You have to tell us what's wrong before we can fix it."

"Can't fix it. Can't fix me. Too broken, too sick, too - _wrong_."

John tilted his head. "Oh, love. It can't be all that bad."

Sherlock huffed. "I want Mycroft."

"He's just in the kitchen, love. I can go fetch him if you need to talk to him..."

"No, John." He straightened his body and flopped onto his back, giving both men a clear view of his erection. "I - _want_ \- him."

John said, "Oh dear," and Greg said, "Ah," at the same moment. Sherlock frowned as he looked between them.

"Isn't now about the time that you should be shrieking in horror and running away from me?"

John smiled as Greg shuffled in a little closer, propping himself up on his elbow. "Sherlock, love... There is very little you could do to drive us away that easily."

Sherlock gaped at them both in turn. "I just confessed to you that I'm having sexual feelings toward my brother, and neither of you seems all that bothered. Please excuse me if I seem a bit _confused_."

Greg ran his fingers down Sherlock's arm and gave his wrist a little squeeze. "Let's just say that we're both well aware that the bond between you two is - unconventional, to say the least." He reached over his body and twined his fingers with John's, resting their clasped hands on Sherlock's belly. "And what with certain - developments - in the household dynamic, well... Neither of us is really very surprised, that's all. You haven't been all that subtle about it, baby."  
   
Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes. John tilted his head, studying his face. "How did you happen to discover this about yourself, love? You two didn't - experiment - when you were younger, did you?"  
   
"God, no! Mycroft has never behaved as anything other than sickeningly proper toward me. We hardly even embraced throughout our childhood - what you just saw in the kitchen was more or less the extent of our physical contact when we were younger. I was a child when he became sexually aware, and then when I developed, I pushed those feelings aside. This is an entirely new concept for me, and I haven't the faintest idea what to do about it."  
   
"Baby, what happened to bring this out?"  
   
"You happened." Greg blinked down at him in surprise. "No, I'm not saying it's your fault, not really. Although it sort of is. Your fault, I mean. No, I don't know what I mean. _Bollocks_."  
   
John laughed quietly. "It's all right, love. Just work it out, and tell us."  
   
Sherlock blew out a breath. "When  Mycroft came to you, Greg, I was still angry with him. For shutting me out of his life, for forcing me to go through rehab, for being smarter and swifter and just better."  
   
"For being your older brother."  
   
A quick roll of the eyes. "Yes. Sibling rivalry. All that rot. And I was a bit smug, I think, because I finally had something that he didn't. I had love. Not only that, but for the first time I was capable of showing him that I didn't need him anymore. I thought that I was ready to push him away for certain, now that I had you two."  
   
"But then he came to me."  
   
"Yes. And I found that I could not deny him his own chance at happiness. As much as I tried to hate him, I simply could not. I actually started to enjoy having him around a bit more, enjoyed reconnecting with him in little ways. The - other - is far more recent."  
   
"When did it happen?"  
   
"The evening that we went to his offices, and Greg made his completely unnecessary but nevertheless terribly romantic declaration of love. That night, when Mycroft arrived, he was unsettled. He stood outside the door of 221B for far too long, just staring down at the pavement. I went out to meet him, to bring him to his senses, and we embraced. It - it wasn't much of an embrace, not really. But there was something about his heat, his smell, that _damned_ bergamot cologne, and - my body reacted. And rather than pulling away, shutting it down, I allowed it to - to feel. Mycroft responded, but pushed me away, of course. I just - well, I told him to consider it, that's all."  
   
"And ever since that night, you've been making remarks and other advances."  
   
"Which he has summarily rejected. Time and time again. I'm not used to him saying _'no'_ to me, John. He used to give me anything I wanted."  
   
"You're not asking to borrow one of his credit cards this time, Sherlock. There is much more at stake here, both for  Mycroft and for you. Greg, we need to revisit our discussion with My. We should lay everything out - he should have told us about Sherlock making these passes."  
   
"I imagine he was embarrassed about it, John. Perhaps he thought it was one of Sherlock's passing fancies, and he'd get bored with the idea. Or he may have been protecting him - he probably thought that we'd react badly."  
   
John made a disbelieving noise. "Doesn't matter. You _own_ him, Greg. If he were my pet, he would certainly know better than to keep anything from me."  
   
Sherlock's body stiffened as Greg glared and abruptly pushed himself up on one arm, suddenly feeling unaccountably angry and fiercely protective. "Yes, well, he _isn't_ yours, is he? He's _mine_ , and if I should so choose, then that's how he'll _stay_. We'd be very happy on our own if that's the way you'd prefer it."  
   
Sherlock's eyes widened in shock and John's grip on Greg's hand tightened painfully. "No, Greg, no!" Sherlock reached up and pulled the older man down into him, petting his head fiercely. "Don't even say things like that. Not even in jest, please. Don't you leave me. Don't leave _us_. Don't. John, apologise. Now."  
   
"I _am_ sorry, my love. I don't know what came over me." John's voice trembled slightly.  
   
"You're jealous. That's all it is. You're both jealous. It isn't that I don't want to share, or that  Mycroft is unwilling. It's just..." Greg sighed deeply against Sherlock's chest. "I used to think that Sherlock didn't want Mycroft to have you, John, but now I'm wondering if it's the other way round."  
   
Sherlock hummed unhappily. "You're right, Greg. Since things have changed, I found myself thinking about that. My reluctance to allow John to play with Mycroft is mostly because I want to have him before John does. It's all rather ridiculous. And illogical, and childish. I can't believe that I'm so twisted up about it."  
   
"Love isn't logical, baby." Greg looked up at John, whose beautiful slate-blue eyes had gone a little red around the edges. "It causes us to feel and say stupid things all the time."   
   
John sighed and worked his fingers loose from Greg's grip so he could run them through his hair. He slipped down in the bed and laid his head opposite Greg's on Sherlock's chest, knocking their foreheads together as he continued to pet him softly. "I am terribly sorry, Greg. You're right. It was stupid and wrong. Mycroft may be your pet, but he's also a man, and he deserves to be treated with respect."  
   
Sherlock hummed, his arms snug around their torsos. "Greg has done wonders for Mycroft. Love has done wonders for him. I just wish he could see beyond the mere physical, and understand just what it is I want to offer him."  
   
"He may yet, baby. His limits seemed to be somewhat flexible, wouldn't you say, love?"  
   
John nodded. "He was open about being in the same room with either of you playing, as long as the other is clothed and not touching."  
   
"What? How - when?"      
   
Greg chuckled slightly. "John and I have already spoken with Mycroft about, well, not about this, but his boundaries as far as you are concerned."  
   
Sherlock scowled. "And why wasn't I brought in on these discussions?"  
   
"Sherlock, love - you may be many, many things, but considerate is not one of them. If you knew his limits, you would put all you had into overcoming them. Especially now, in light of your desire to have him." Sherlock huffed as John poked at his belly. "You can be a selfish and greedy little boy, my love. Think about your scene in the kitchen just now. You distressed him quite badly by pushing the way you did."  
   
Greg pushed himself up on one elbow to look Sherlock in the face. "Baby, if anything is going to happen between you two, it will have to be on his terms. He knows how you feel, he needs to work through his own feelings, which are rather convoluted, of course."  
   
"Do - do you think I have a chance?" Sherlock looked up at Greg, wide-eyed and unsure.  
   
Greg hesitated, running his tongue over his lips. "I do." Sherlock's body twitched with excitement. " _If._ If you back off. If you don't push or whine or cajole or persuade or manipulate or do any of your other clever  Sherlocky things." John giggled, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls and down the side of his face. "Don't ignore him either. You still need to let him know that you care, that you're interested, but in a non-pushy, non-threatening way. It isn't going to be easy for you, love."  
   
Sherlock tilted his head, giving John access to his neck. "You could make it easy on me, Greg. He'd do anything for you."  
   
Greg sat up fully, crossing his legs. "No manipulation, baby. That means no using me to get what you want."  
   
"You want it too." Greg nodded silently, watching as John ran his hand under Sherlock's t-shirt and pinched his nipples into sharp points. The dark-haired man gasped. "Tell me, Greg. Please. Tell me what you'd like to see us do together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John take some of the edge off for Sherlock, and Mycroft gets a little taste...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a tiny taste... :)
> 
> Comments always appreciated - thanks so much for sticking with me!

"All right, baby. You mean if I was just watching?"  
   
"Yes. At first, anyway."  
   
"Well, you'd both be starkers, of course." John grumbled quietly as Sherlock immediately wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms and then sat up to remove dressing gown and vest. "You too, love - you're playing Mycroft in this little game." John smiled as he slid off the bed and shed his clothing, taking a moment after he was bare to lean over Sherlock and bring Greg in for a gentle kiss, looking him deep in the eyes. Greg smiled in return, nodding slightly. "I forgive you. Heat of the moment and all that. I'm sorry for threatening to leave. You know I'd never..."  
   
"I know." Another soft kiss. Sherlock moaned and wriggled again, running his hands over John and Greg and himself.  
   
Greg chuckled. "That right there - the touching. That has to stop." Sherlock frowned. "Put your hands over your head. You're not to touch, you understand?"  
   
"Why?"  
   
"You have to give Mycroft time to get used to it, to get used to you. Seeing your body all laid out for him - it will be disconcerting, to say the least. So at first, you're going to let him explore." Greg nodded at John, who grinned and shifted to his knees. He began touching Sherlock's face gently, running his fingertips over and along the angles and curves. Sherlock moaned and tilted his head back, clutching his hands together tight. "Just like that, baby. Keep your eyes closed, and think of Mycroft. Maybe this little game will help take some of the edge off for you." Greg paused, watching as John caressed Sherlock methodically. "If he allows this to happen, I may even tie you up the first time. Would you be okay with that?"  
   
"Yes, oh God, yes." John continued to run his hands along Sherlock's body slowly, taking what time he thought Mycroft might need to acclimate himself. He flicked a nipple with his fingernail gently, grinning as the younger man hissed in a short breath and his back arched. "Myc - _Jesus_." John quirked an eyebrow at Greg, who grinned back at him.

"It's all right to taste, pet. Only if you'd like to, of course."  
   
John shivered slightly as Sherlock moaned. How odd it felt to have that particular endearment aimed at him, and how odd to realise that he would willingly take on that role, if that was what Greg required of him. But Greg would never require him to be anything other than what he was - his partner, John Watson. The other two, 'Baby' and 'Pet', well - Greg undoubtedly loved them both deeply, but he also saw in them something of a burden, two men who looked to him as a caretaker as well as a lover.

John knew that in him, Greg saw an equal, someone who could stand on his own, someone that he could give himself over to for safekeeping if necessary. Captain Watson, with his damaged body and fractured mind, was the one that Greg would turn to in his time of need. It was so easy to forget, in the glorious chaos that had become their life together, that he was this extraordinary man's 'Love', and that he always would be. That was something that John resolved never to take for granted.

Greg tilted his head, seeing something of John's thoughts in his face, not quite reading the intent, but definitely seeing the resolution, as he smiled at his lover, almost shyly.

"Gregory..." Sherlock moaned again, for although it was not Mycroft's voice, it wasn't entirely John's either. Usually, when he uttered those three syllables, it was in a sharp, precise tone, the command of a Captain. This time, it held something more, a generous measure of the reverence that Mycroft displayed whenever he was addressing his lover, the man that he adored with his entire being. John went up on his knees, reaching out. "Gregory."

Greg smiled and came up to meet him over Sherlock's writhing body. "Oh yes, pet." They kissed tenderly, tentatively, almost like it was their first time. "Yes, my love." John felt the tears welling up and inwardly scoffed at himself, but could not find it in him to feel any shame, not when Greg was looking at him like that, his beautiful dark eyes absolutely radiating with undisguised affection. Greg cupped his jaw, running his thumb under John's eye and down his nose, giving the end a little tweak. John giggled, feeling his odd introspection retreating under his lover's gentle scrutiny. "Come, pet. We've been neglecting your dear brother, and he's been so good for you. Why don't you give both of you a treat, and have a little taste?"

John hummed, somewhat unsure of himself. These sorts of games weren't exactly his forte, and he always felt a little bit off trying to play anyone but himself. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to imitate Mycroft's posh, sultry voice to satisfaction, he decided to keep silent, to use only his body as he fulfilled his role. John nodded as he leant over, tilting Sherlock's head back with one finger under his chin. He ran his nose down the long column of his throat before flickering his tongue out over the hollow, letting his lips trace the stark outline of his clavicle.

Sherlock's entire body stiffened and a loud groan forced its way out of his mouth. Greg chuckled and John smiled against Sherlock's flesh, moving down along his sternum, his fingers tracing the lines of his ribcage. He paused, nosing around the edges of one pale, pink nipple, letting his breath shudder out over his lover's skin as he seemed to hesitate. One moment, then two, his own body trembling at every pitiful whimper that escaped Sherlock's lips. Finally, he lapped at the hardened nub, sighing as Sherlock gasped and arched into him.  
   
John made a noise, something deep and satisfied, a connoisseur experiencing a fine vintage of rare wine. His fingers travelled lower, wrapping around one bony hip as he explored Sherlock's chest with his mouth and tongue. Sherlock moved languidly against him, desperate for more but holding himself back with admirable restraint.  
   
"That's good, baby. You're doing very well." Sherlock gasped and turned his head toward Greg, his eyes still firmly closed. Greg chuckled quietly. "You just about forgot I was even _here_ , din't ya?" Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, his head going back slightly as John moved down just a bit further, nibbling at his navel delicately. Another deep and appreciative noise, and Sherlock moaned in response, clutching at his curls in an effort to keep his hands to himself.  
   
"Greg..." A mere whisper. "You aren't talking him through it. I want to know what you want to happen. "  
   
"This is it, baby. I want to watch your brother exploring the only parts of you that he doesn't know as intimately as his own mind. I want to watch him discover your body, to bloody well deduce exactly how to drive you crazy with just the barest touches. I want him to take all the time he needs so when you do come for him that first time, he knows absolutely that it was all because of him. That you willingly placed yourself under his power, with no reservations, with no ulterior motives. That you trust him with everything you are, your mind, your heart, your body; everything. I want you to place your faith in him utterly, and watch as his own faith is restored. I want to stand witness as your uniquely beautiful bond becomes something so much more. I want to watch as you finally complete each other."  
   
Greg reached up and took one of Sherlock's hands in his own, smiling gently as the dark-haired man opened his eyes to stare at him in wonder. "This is why you must be patient, Sherlock. This is about so much more than just sex, although the very idea of the two of you wrapped up in each other is nearly enough to make me pop off right here and now. So much Holmes in one room, I may spontaneously combust for fuck's sake. How the hell is this even my life, sweet Christ above..." Greg shook his head slightly and squeezed Sherlock's hand, smiling briefly as John chuckled against the younger man's belly and started to work his way lower.  
   
Sherlock bit his lip and groaned before nodding at Greg dazedly. "I understand, Greg. I - oh God, Mycroft..." His brilliant eyes shut tight, he threw his head back as John licked a long, broad stripe up his bollocks and shaft. "Oh, fuck _yes_."  
   
Greg hummed as Sherlock's grip tightened on his hand. "That's it, baby. Just think of your big brother taking care of you as best he knows how. Because I can tell you, Sherlock, that your dear brother is immeasurably talented with that clever mouth of his. Such a sharp, nimble tongue, and he knows just how to use it. What bits need a nice firm lick, which to flutter against oh-so-gently, just where to nibble and bite, oh yes. There's nothing he likes more than to take me to pieces with that devilish mouth of his and oh good Lord I cannot _wait_ to see him do it to you."  
   
Sherlock moaned wordlessly, his head thrashing slowly against the pillows as John bent to his task, one hand firm against Sherlock's lower belly, holding him down as he bobbed and sucked. The other hand worked at his cock briefly, then moved down, tugging and kneading at his bollocks before going just a bit further, rubbing at his perineum. Sherlock eagerly spread his legs, and Greg leant in close to him, blowing a hot breath over neck and ear.  
   
Not bothering to even try to disguise his voice, knowing that he would fail utterly, he bit down gently on Sherlock's earlobe and whispered, "Oh, yes, brother dear. Brother - _mine_." Greg emphasised the last word with a little growl, and Sherlock's eyes flew open as he came quite suddenly with nothing more than a tiny _'oh'_ on his lips.  
   
John hummed as Sherlock's release filled his mouth, and he glanced up to catch Greg's eye. Going up on his knees, he gestured, and Greg was there instantly, locking their mouths together so they could share in the bounty. The men pulled away from each other, eyes dark and wild, and John wiped at a tiny bit of come that had dribbled onto his chin. He reached out to smear it on Greg's lips, holding up a finger as his lover's nimble tongue darted out to lick at it. He jerked his head toward the door.  
   
"Go give your pet a taste, my love. Show him just what he's been missing."  
   
Greg grinned wildly and slid off the bed immediately, his body shivering at Sherlock's loud groan. John nearly threw himself onto the younger man and started rubbing against him without another word. Greg made sure to close the door behind him securely and went to seek out Mycroft.  
   
He was in the kitchen where they had left him, and having tidied up a bit, was perusing the paper. He looked up as Greg came in, his grey eyes crinkled with concern.  
   
"Gregory, is Sherlock all right?" As a response, Greg simply pulled him in close and pressed his mouth to his. Mycroft jerked back briefly, a myriad of emotions flitting over his features. Shock, yes, but need and desire as well, just a hint of shame before absolute hunger flooded his face. " _Gregory_. Is that - ?"  
   
Greg nodded silently, licking his lips thoroughly and then waiting, waiting for Mycroft to moan quietly and pull him in, opening his mouth and allowing Greg to slide in, flickering his tongue against his, letting him taste his little brother, tempered with his own unique flavour. He let Mycroft explore the concept, the idea of having them together, sharing his own enthusiasm at the prospect.  
   
Mycroft clutched him close, and closer still, chasing that elusive flavour with his entire body. He felt Greg's arousal against his hip and ground into him, his knees beginning to buckle. Greg growled low in his chest and held him upright.  
   
"Not here, pet." He pulled away slightly and took Mycroft by the hand into the sitting room, leading him right to Sherlock's armchair. He sat down and slid a bit forward, waiting for Mycroft to settle down onto his knees in front of him. Mycroft threw a look over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. "They'll be occupied for a little while yet." He chuckled slightly and shuddered deliciously as Mycroft laid his hands on his knees and slid them upward. "I won't take long."  
   
Mycroft smiled crookedly as Greg reached out to him, lightly fingering the marks that had been left behind by his over-enthusiastic bite a few days earlier. Mycroft's body shivered and he leant into the touch, the saliva beginning to build in his mouth as he eyed the enticing bulge in Greg's pants. He ran his hands up, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling down. Greg lifted his hips, allowing his pants to be drawn down and then completely off. He spread his legs, and Mycroft instantly obeyed the unspoken demand, snugging up in between.

Gregory was indeed close, his bollocks tucked up firm against the root of his delicious cock. Mycroft mourned a little, knowing that it would be over all too soon, but delighted in knowing that there would be so many more opportunities to come, so many more times that he could lick and nibble and tease his Gregory right to his breaking point and then beyond. Gregory's body was stiff underneath his hands, his thighs tense and belly quivering. Short and simple, then.

He lifted his eyes to look at Gregory from underneath his lashes as he licked a broad wet stripe from root to tip. His lover groaned loudly, his body twitching as his neck muscles flexed, fighting the urge to just throw back his head and let pleasure overtake him. Mycroft's lips curved into a wicked little smirk. Oh, he did so love it when Gregory watched. He hummed quietly and let his tongue flicker out, delicately lapping up the pre-come that was dripping out at a fairly rapid pace. He kept his eyes locked on Gregory's face as he licked his lips and then parted them slightly, leaning forward to let the head slip between and then in.

Another loud groan, and oh yes, lovely broad fingers in his hair, stroking him, cupping the back of his head, guiding him. Mycroft chuckled low in his chest, earning another breathy groan. As if he needed any guidance for this, the one thing that he truly excelled at. Although, that was not Gregory's intention, not at all. Very rarely would he just lie back and let Mycroft touch him without touching in return. He needed to feel a connection with his partners in order to truly get off, and he needed to feel it with his own hand.

Mycroft watched Gregory's chest rise and fall, hitching slightly every time he fluttered his tongue just so. He ran his left hand up, his fingertips idly playing with one dusky nipple. Gregory chuckled and stroked his arm with his free hand, smiling as Mycroft shivered at his touch. The fingers in his hair tightened minutely, and the look on Gregory's face spoke of his need. Mycroft could almost hear it in his head, Gregory's soft growl, not pleading, not really, and most definitely not ordering. Just - asking. Asking his pet to take him apart and put him back together again.

And Mycroft answered, as he always would. He opened his mouth wide and slowly but surely took all of his Gregory inside. A soft gasp, and Mycroft did not have to look up to see that his lover had finally thrown his head back, all the muscles in his body quivering. Fingers clutching at head and arm, Gregory rolled his hips up, driving his cock just a bit further into Mycroft's throat. His pet let out a muffled moan and swallowed around the head, and Gregory promptly popped off, like a cork from a bottle of champagne.

Mycroft hummed in satisfaction as he felt the hot, bittersweet fluid hit the back of his throat, and he pulled off slightly only to bob down once more, engulfing him completely again. Gregory whimpered quietly as Mycroft pulled off a second time, sucking hard the whole way. Greg's body jerked as Mycroft finally let him go, his spent cock falling out of his mouth with an obscene slurp. Mycroft felt a small upward tug at his hair, and followed the unspoken command, rising to his feet and straddling Gregory's knees, clambering up into his lap.

Greg tutted slightly and quickly worked the belt on Mycroft's dressing gown loose before wrapping his arms around him, slipping his hands up the back of his pyjama top. Both men sighed as Greg touched Mycroft's bare flesh, and they settled into a comfortable cuddle together.  
   
After long moments, Mycroft reached up to trace his fingers down Greg's neck and along his collarbone. "Gregory... Dare I ask what it was that had you so - overwrought?"

Greg hummed. "You can always ask, pet." He sighed quietly. "Sherlock told us about his, well - interest - in you."

"And you like the idea."

Greg chuckled. "You are utterly brilliant, my love." Mycroft huffed in annoyance, and Greg soothed his hands down his back in a placating gesture. "Sorry, pet. Yes, I do like the idea. Very much, as you could see."

Mycroft shifted uneasily. "Well, if you want - "

"Stop right there." Mycroft fell silent and Greg nudged him slightly. "Look at me, Mycroft. I have made it very clear to Sherlock that something like that would only happen if _you_ wanted it to. Neither he nor I are to be a factor in your decision, pet." He slid one hand out from underneath Mycroft's pyjamas and reached up to run his fingers through his soft red hair. "I know that you like making other people happy - me especially. But this is not something that should be done for others - it should only be done for you."

Greg waited for Mycroft to nod slightly before pulling him back down to his chest. "So you think about it, and you take as much time as you need. If the answer is 'no', then Sherlock and I will play our little games from time to time, and you'll never have to think of it again. But if you agree, and your heart and mind are not fully engaged, I will know, Mycroft. And I will not be happy."

Mycroft felt his body go tense. "I understand, Gregory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Mycroft and Greg, and Sherlock makes a little reveal near the end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to post last week, but I've been ill and - ugh. 
> 
> One more tiny step along the road to Holmescest, and I'm very interested to know what you all may think...

"Of course you do. Now kiss me, pet." Mycroft quirked a small smile at his lover as he sat up. He reached up to trace the curves and lines of his Gregory's lovely face, his eyes following the invisible path that his fingers had left behind, until both fingers and eyes came to rest on those beautiful lips, and he couldn't prevent a quiet sigh from escaping as he lowered his mouth to capture them between his own.

Greg reached up to cup Mycroft's jaw as he kissed him, letting his touch wander down the side of his neck to the shiny pink half-moon shaped scars there. His mark on his pet's neck, his brand. He hadn't meant for it to happen, of course, but he was immeasurably glad that it had. Mycroft gasped into his mouth as Greg fingered the upraised flesh, his body going nearly boneless in Gregory's arms. Mycroft moaned quietly as he felt him beginning to fill out again, growing hard against the crack of his arse.

He laughed softly as he rolled his head on his neck. "Gregory, you are unreal."

"Can't help it, pet. Not with the way you feel against me. Not with those delightful noises you make. And this." He pressed down hard on the mark, grinning as Mycroft moaned and writhed against him. "Jesus, it's like I've got my hand on your cock, not just your neck." Mycroft tilted his head, closing his eyes in bliss as Gregory's fingers worked against the scars. "Christ, when you're like this - fuck. I could do anything to you, and you _can't_ tell me no, can you?" Greg looked at his face in wonder,  Mycroft's entire being sinking into that touch.

"I could bend you over right here and now and you wouldn't even care if John and Sherlock came in. Fuck, I could probably strip you bare and parade you up and down the street like the pretty little pet you are. Such power you've given me, Mycroft. Sweet Jesus, you don't even know what you _do_ to me..." He pulled  Mycroft down, laving his tongue over the marks and biting down gently. Mycroft stiffened and groaned, rubbing himself against Greg with increasing urgency.

"More, Gregory. Please."

"More what, pet? Tell me what you need."

Mycroft sighed heavily against Greg's shoulder. "I don't know. Just more. More of - _you_."

Greg hummed and began fishing about in the cushion of Sherlock's armchair. There was almost always... Damn. Then came a subtle movement at his back, and he leant forward slightly so Mycroft could do some digging of his own. A small bottle was pressed into his hand as Mycroft giggled quietly.

"Do you want me to let you loose, pet?" Mycroft shook his head, biting his lip coquettishly. Greg smiled at him indulgently. Just fingers, then. Oh, yes - a bit of a challenge, but he certainly could make Mycroft come with nothing but fingers in his arse and teeth in his neck. He reached around and ran his fingers down into Mycroft's pyjama bottoms, past the waistband of his pants. "You should shuck these off, you know. They'll get all sticky."

Mycroft smiled faintly and shook his head again. Greg shrugged and simply tipped the bottle into the crack of Mycroft's arse, letting a generous amount trickle down. Mycroft gasped and then moaned as Greg chased the cold fluid with his warm fingers, not hesitating, immediately circling his hole with one broad finger and dipping it in shallowly. 

His pet shuddered deliciously against him, his fingers digging hard into his shoulders as he dipped his spine, going up on his knees and tilting his arse up to give him easier access. Greg looked up at the work of art in his lap, Mycroft's head thrown back, his long white throat exposed and oh-so-inviting. As unworthy as Mycroft believed himself to be, he certainly knew how to display himself to the greatest advantage. Greg snarled quietly as his eyes travelled down and his vision was marred by the unsightly disruption of clothing.

Greg often thought that Mycroft's beauty should be displayed in full, whether pleasuring or being pleasured, or damn well just lounging about in bed. He felt he deserved to see his pet bare, so he could appreciate him fully and so Mycroft could acknowledge the true extent of said appreciation. Greg knew that his pet still had those days where no matter how many times or in how many ways Greg said it, he simply could not comprehend the depth of his feelings for him. So Greg would try to show him instead, gazing at that long lean body with all the hunger he felt in his groin, running his hands and mouth over every inch of his strawberries-and-cream skin. Greg was rather proud to count more victories than defeats, for those days when he demonstrated rather than spoke, most of those days, after his own particular ritual of adoration, he would look down at his pet, his soft red hair all in disarray on the pillow, he would simply _look_ , and let that say all.

And on those days, Mycroft would reach up to gently touch his face and say, "Yes, Gregory. I love you, too." And he would smile, that soft almost shy smile that would make Greg's heart clench in his chest at the sweetness of it. A smile that said, _'I still don't understand, not really. But I do believe.'_ The same gentle smile that was being directed at him now, in fact. Without breaking the rhythm of his rolling hips,  Mycroft reached for his pyjama top with one hand and started flicking the buttons open, one by one.

Greg grinned sharply and thrust his fingers deeper into Mycroft's body, shivering as his lover moaned low. Once the last button had been undone, Greg wrapped his free arm around Mycroft's torso and yanked him closer, laying his mouth onto whatever bit of flesh he could reach. Mycroft quivered and moaned at every touch, whether it be with lips or tongue or teeth. Greg growled with frustration as Mycroft's quiet cries became something desperate and needy. It wasn't enough.

A loud gasp as Greg removed his fingers, only to come back around to dip into the front of Mycroft's pyjamas. "I need a better angle, pet." Mycroft bit his lip and nodded, going up on his knees as Greg added a little more lube and then slid three fingers in, pushing the knuckle of his thumb against the sensitive ridge of Mycroft's perineum. He crooked the middle finger slightly, searching out that silly little lump of flesh that delivered such pleasure. Greg grunted in satisfaction as he found it, Mycroft's head going back once more and his mouth opening in a silent wail. "That's it, pet. Fuck yourself on my fingers." Mycroft obeyed, bouncing against Greg's hand, his bollocks and the solid weight of the cock-cage slapping against the inside of his forearm. Greg grasped the back of his neck and pulled Mycroft down into a fierce kiss. "I want you to do something for me, My."

"Gregory." Mycroft panted. "I would do - anything. Oh _God_."

"Take me in hand." Greg gasped as Mycroft immediately did as he was told, swiping across the head of his cock with a dexterous thumb. "Not to bring me off. Lightly, pet. _Gently_."  Mycroft's brow furrowed, but he loosened his grip. "That's it." Greg sighed as his lover continued to rock against his hand. He licked at the mark on Mycroft's neck and hummed. "Just hold on and close your eyes. I know how much you love my cock, Mycroft. You love the look of me, the feel and oh God, the taste of me, don't you?"

"Yes. Good Lord, yes."

"You're addicted to it, aren't you, pet? Do you daydream about my cock when you're in those dreadfully boring meetings at work, discussing such important matters of state? Do you imagine going down on your knees to me in that lovely easy manner of yours - going to your knees and drawing me out of my pants and licking at me until I'm oh-so-hard and absolutely _gasping_ for you?"

"I do, Gregory." A long moan, and Greg smiled as he felt a slight wobbling in the flesh clamped around his fingers. "Oh God, I think of you _all the time_."

"I bet that's why you really wear the cage. So you aren't embarrassing yourself with a constant stiffy." Greg chuckled low against the flesh of Mycroft's neck. "And I know you love to tease me, pet, so you can feel me and taste me for as long as possible. You love nothing more than to keep me in your mouth, all thick and hard."

"And _hot_ , Gregory. So thick and hard and...hot...oh yes." Mycroft's breath stuttered against Greg's neck.

"That's it. Imagine it for me, pet. Feel me pulsing and coming against your tongue, down your throat, twitching and spurting..." Greg grinned as Mycroft's hips suddenly jerked hard and his body convulsed wildly, his breath caught in a heady moan. He waited until Mycroft relaxed slightly before opening his mouth wide and biting down on the still-sensitive marks on his neck. Mycroft stiffened abruptly, letting out a shocked curse as he seemed to come again, his body twitching and his eyes rolling back in his head.

Mycroft clutched at Greg's shoulders and shook himself slightly, breath coming in huge gasping pulls. "What the... _hell_...was that...oh Jesus." He took in a deep breath from his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth. "I think... I think I may have had a stroke, oh _Christ_." Greg laughed as he pulled  Mycroft closer, pressing his cheek to his chest. Mycroft wrapped one arm around his neck and put his cheek to the top of his head. "I love you, Gregory. God, so much."

"And I, you, pet. You make me so happy." Greg's voice was muffled, but Mycroft could clearly hear the joy in it.

Mycroft's fingers twitched in their gentle grip around Greg's still-hard cock. "Would you like me to finish you off, my love?"

Greg hummed. "No, pet. Let's save some for later, yeah? Besides, I think John and Sherlock will be joining us before too long, and that might be a little awkward, don't you think?"

Mycroft pulled back slightly, wincing as Greg withdrew his fingers, tugging firmly at the cage along the way. He rolled his eyes, but smiled, as Greg wiped his hand on the inside of his pyjamas. "No, Gregory. Not awkward at all. I'm beginning to think that it may be - right. Perhaps even as it should be."

Greg grinned as he leant in to nip at his chin and nose. "I'm pleased to hear that, My." He pulled back to look at his pet seriously, unable to hide the twinkle in his eye. "But take some time, yeah? Be _sure_."

Mycroft nodded, his eyes tracing down Gregory's body. He licked his lips. "Are you certain you don't want me to..."

Greg's warm chuckle nearly overrode the sound of John and Sherlock shuffling into the sitting room. Mycroft glanced over his shoulder as Sherlock cleared his throat, looking down at his feet awkwardly. Mycroft swiftly slid off of Gregory's knees, hastily pulling his dressing gown around him and tying it tight. Greg winked at him as he turned to face his brother.

"Mycroft. I wish to - apologise - for any discomfort I may have caused you. I obviously do not have as solid control over myself in this area as I do in other aspects of my life, and I find I simply do not know how to behave. Please feel free to strike me the next time you find that I am too forward with you."

Sherlock looked affronted as both Greg and John snorted. Mycroft glanced over his shoulder at Greg, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. He pulled Sherlock into an embrace and sighed quietly. "I do not think that will be necessary, little brother. I think you've quite learnt your lesson. For now, anyway..."

Sherlock's arms came up to hold his brother to him tightly. "Mycroft..."

"I know, brother dear. And I will say this for now. _Maybe_."  Mycroft smiled as Sherlock went rigid in his arms with surprise and delight. "Perhaps. Just - give me time."

"All the time you need, brother mine."

Sherlock hummed happily as Mycroft clasped his head in both of his hands and put their foreheads together. "Thank you, Sherlock. And now, breakfast. There are still pancakes to be made."

Sherlock sniffed as Mycroft pulled away. "I'm not hun\- " He stopped abruptly at the three distinct glares being tossed in his direction. "Pancakes, you say? Cook's recipe, I suppose... Is there syrup?"

John laughed. "Of course. And an unopened bottle in the cabinet. Just for you, my love." He followed Mycroft into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock to look down at Greg, completely exposed as he sprawled in his armchair.

The younger man frowned impressively. "Greg. You are naked."

"Sterling observation there, baby."

"In my _chair_. You are sitting bare-arsed naked in my bloody chair!"

Greg grinned up at him disarmingly. "Yup."

Sherlock glared and then stilled as his eyes flickered over Greg. "You defiled my brother in _my_ chair."

"Indeed I did." Greg hummed as he swiped his pants off the floor and stepped into them before standing upright and pulling them up over his hips. He stretched, watching with glee as Sherlock blinked rapidly down at his chair. "You're not even sure whether to be disgusted or turned on, are you?" The look that was directed at him clearly said, _'I'll figure it out, don't you worry'_. Greg giggled as he went up on his toes to bite at Sherlock's jaw. "He sucked me off and then I made him come - twice - with nothing more than my fingers and words." Sherlock swallowed hard and his cheeks went a delightful shade of pink. "I think that's a vote for 'ridiculously turned on', then."

"Shut up, you _foul_ creature."

Greg giggled again and laid a gentle kiss on Sherlock's neck. "I'm proud of you, baby. You've done very well." Both men sighed as Sherlock wrapped his arms around Greg's waist and dropped his head into the crook of neck and shoulder. "Although offering to be slapped may have been a bit much..."

Sherlock chuckled. "That was John's idea." He hummed as Greg ran his hands down his back and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Thank you. Now, I suggest you go wash up and hurry back. Once I start consuming Mycroft's pancakes, I often find it difficult to stop. I will be a bloated mess before too long, and absolutely useless for the rest of the day."

Greg pulled away, a little reluctantly. Some days it seemed rather a chore to get Sherlock to show even a little affection, so having him draped over him like this was nearly utter bliss. "I look forward to your future whinging about an aching tummy, then."

Sherlock winked at him with a wicked little grin. "That's all right. I'm sure that Daddy and Papa will take care of me if necessary."

Greg's eyes widened. "Ooh, you little _shit_. So you were aware of what was going on."

"Not entirely. I - "

Just then, John popped his head in from the kitchen. "Are you two going to join us or what? My is making a fairly ridiculous number of pancakes, not that I won't be able to put a considerable dent in them by myself..."

"In a minute. Love, come here." John frowned, but stepped in close. "Explain, baby."

Sherlock huffed. "When I woke this morning, it didn't take me long to realise that I had somehow lost half a day. It wasn't too difficult to re-trace my memories to the point that you, well, spanked me quite thoroughly. Some of the events beyond that are indeed a bit hazy, but I recalled enough to essentially determine what had happened. I know that it was a bit of a shock for you both, and I'm still quite surprised by it myself, although it was something that I quite clearly needed." He cleared his throat and glanced between his lovers. "It's an experience that I'd like to duplicate, in the not-so-far future, if possible. I'd like to see if I could maintain more awareness the next time. If - if you're both amenable, of course."

Greg shuddered as John eyed him, nodding slightly. "Sherlock, love, we would be more than amenable. But you know that, you sly bastard." John tapped his chin. "I'm fairly certain that it was the spanking itself that triggered that little fugue state of yours. So next time we can start with something different." Sherlock's breath caught as he winked up at him. "I guess it will depend on how naughty Baby has been, won't it?"

Sherlock blushed. "Yes, Papa."

"Oh Christ, oh good fucking _Lord_."

John smirked before taking Sherlock's upper arm and steering him toward the kitchen. "Go wash up, Gregory. And you may want to take care of _that_ somewhere along the way..." John nodded at his prominent erection, ignoring Sherlock's quiet giggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast and fluffiness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on posting again so soon, but it seems that the muse is flowing, so I thought I'd best go along with it.
> 
> Do let me know what you think!

Greg headed into the bathroom to wash his hands thoroughly, steadfastly ignoring his nether regions as he attacked his fingers with the little nail brush that John had purchased for just this purpose. He was pretty sure that he was likely to undergo a thorough inspection before being allowed to sit down to enjoy his pet's cooking. Once his hands were completely clean, if a bit red, he glanced up at himself in the mirror. He sighed heavily as he ran his damp fingers through his hair, ruffling it up into messy silver spikes. Grey, grey - so much fucking grey. He watched his hands travel down the side of his face to his chest, fingers plucking at even more grey. He stopped himself before including anything below the navel in his morose little self-inspection. Greg chuckled quietly to himself as he leant in to the mirror, dark brown eyes taking in every detail. Grey, yes, but not too many lines, not for a man of forty-five with a fairly stressful career and weirdly complicated personal life.  
   
A man of forty-five who suddenly found himself in the role of 'Daddy' - a role that he had not imagined for himself at all, like - ever. Whether as an actual DNA donor or as a kinky gay stereotype, just the barest inkling of fatherhood had been something very, very indistinct and very, very vague in the back of his mind. And yet, one little slip of the hand, or several hard smacks on an impertinent consulting detective's arse, as it were, and here he was. Although, as new as the entire concept was to him, he found that he was very much looking forward to it. He grinned at his reflection a little wolfishly, and then laughed at himself outright.  
   
Greg was still chuckling as he came into the kitchen to find John obstinately hunched over his plate, attempting to protect it from Sherlock, who was already cradling his visibly over-stuffed belly with one hand while trying to snag 'just one more bite, honestly John, I'm not going to eat it all' with the other. Mycroft was watching with upraised brows and an expression of utter stupefaction on his face, his own plate still half-full but well out of Sherlock's reach. John growled and stabbed at Sherlock's grasping hand with his fork, grinning sharply as he made brief contact before his assailant was able to snatch his hand away.  
   
" _Ow!_ Bugger!"    
   
"Serves you right, you - vulture." Sherlock pouted magnificently as John shovelled in another bite of syrupy goodness and glared at him. " _Mine._ You've already had quite enough."  
   
Greg snorted as he went for his own plate, set up on the counter with a lid over it to keep it warm. Three fluffy golden-brown pancakes were waiting for him, and he took a little time to inspect the stack, smiling as he noted that Mycroft had liberally spread butter over each one. God, his pet knew him so well. He suddenly felt warmth bloom from somewhere deep in his ribcage and he had to laugh at himself for being such a romantic fool. He caught Mycroft's inquisitive look as he turned to snag the syrup off the table and shook his head lightly. Mycroft smiled and returned to his own plate, dabbing at his mouth daintily with his napkin after every bite. Greg propped himself up against the counter to eat, keeping out of Sherlock's reach, watching Mycroft as he watched his brother and John squabbling like a couple of ill-tempered ferrets.  
   
His pet's face cycled through so many emotions that Greg found himself utterly captivated. More than a little bit of horror, of course, both at Sherlock's greediness and John's viciousness. Fond exasperation, sheer disbelief, a tiny slice of smugness, because after all, they were fighting over something that he had made for them. The lines around his cool grey eyes were crinkled with happiness and Greg didn't think he had ever seen him looking lovelier. A sudden realisation hit him and he barely stopped himself from mimicking Sherlock's ever-present exclamation, that infuriating 'oh' of illumination that he would almost always fail to explain in the moment.

He suddenly and vividly recalled the words that Mycroft had used when he had first come to him all those months ago, pointing out how he had settled into Baker Street so easily, becoming the head of this odd little household with no fuss whatsoever. He had referred to him as 'Father', and now, Greg understood a bit more of the desperation that he had seen in his pet's eyes that night. _This_ was what he really wanted - not just Greg, although that was a large part of his desire. No, it was more. He wanted to be 'Mother'. Not literally, of course; Mycroft would never presume to be the only one to stand at Greg's side. He just wanted to show his love by ensuring that everyone under his care was well-fed and happy. He wanted to make breakfast and dinner and pack lunches and wash up after his boys and all of that frightfully domestic nonsense.   
   
After all of this, Mycroft simply needed a family to take care of.  
   
Greg smiled around a mouthful of insanely delicious pancakes and then nearly choked as Sherlock managed to sneak a hand under John's arm and grab a bit of - something - howling with pain as John reached out to pinch his thigh quite relentlessly.  
   
Mycroft sighed heavily. "Sherlock. _My God_. You are going to make yourself violently ill if you keep on like this. Let John enjoy his breakfast in peace." Greg coughed and cleared his throat, smiling again at his scolding tone. Oh yes, definitely 'Mother'. "Gregory, my dear, are you quite all right?"  
   
"'M fine, pet. Just - _ack_  - inhaled when I should've swallowed. _Ahem_." John snorted at him and Mycroft frowned. Sherlock fidgeted, once more reaching for something that was not his. "Baby, knock that off. You listen to your big brother, leave John alone." Sherlock blushed faintly and folded his hands in his lap. "That's better. Tell you what - bring your plate over here and wash up and I'll let you have a little taste of mine." Mycroft's frown deepened just a tiny bit. "A very little taste. Don't want you getting sick." Sherlock slid his glance sideways, at both John and Mycroft, blushing a bit harder. "C'mon, baby."  
   
John looked at Greg with a hint of sly amusement as Sherlock bit his lip, keeping his eyes on his plate. The silence around the table grew into something almost physical, a palpable presence, as he stood and walked over to the sink. Mycroft let out a gust of air that he hadn't even been aware of holding in as Sherlock leant his cheek into Greg's shoulder and murmured in a barely audible tone, "Yes, Daddy."

John giggled at Greg's saucy wink. "Oh, you are a bad, _bad_ man, Gregory Lestrade."

"Hush, love, and finish your breakfast." Greg turned to Mycroft to find him sitting quite still, eyes wide with shock and - oh yes - desire. He opened his mouth to speak but Greg shook his head ever so slightly and put a finger to his lips. Mycroft shifted uneasily in his seat and nodded as Sherlock obediently washed his plate and set it on the drain board. Greg leant in to kiss his cheek, his lips nearly getting scorched by the furious blush heating Sherlock's face. "Such a good boy." He gestured at his nearly empty plate. "Still want a nibble?"

"Yes, please."  
   
Greg scooped up the last bite, making sure it was thoroughly drenched in syrup. "Open up, then." He grinned as Sherlock turned to him, mouth wide, pink tongue trembling. He popped his fork in and hummed as Sherlock's plush lips closed over it, his nose crinkling with pleasure. "There you go. Now everybody's fed, correct?" Greg gave Sherlock a little kiss and patted his bum, smiling indulgently as his face heated up even further. "Sit down for a second, honey. I have an idea."

Three faces looked up at him expectantly and Greg once more found himself contemplating the near absurdity of his life. He had never once imagined that anything like this could ever happen, but here it was, it was happening to him, and he was bloody well _drunk_ on it.  
   
"I think that we should have an outing. A little family time in the city."

John smiled as Mycroft turned a quietly delighted face to him and Sherlock, who just looked vaguely ill. "What did you have in mind, love?"

"Oh, I dunno. Tourist shite, maybe - the Museum, Big Ben, the Bloody Tower. Whatever strikes our fancy, really. Nothing too strenuous, of course. Wouldn't want Sherlock there to puke all over some poor American in Trafalgar Square."

John snorted. "By the time we all get cleaned up and somewhat presentable, that tummy of his will be just fine." Sherlock turned a tiny wavery smile on him and he reached out to pinch his chin in thumb and forefinger. "Such a greedy little boy."

"Yes, Papa."

Mycroft sucked in an audible breath and abruptly stood, gathering empty plates. Greg turned and took them from him. "You go start the shower, pet. I'll be there in a minute."

"Oh, but Gregory, the dishes - "

"Will be washed. Don't you worry about that." He leant in to his pet's ear to whisper, "Don't think I haven't seen you squirming in your seat this whole time. I know those dirty pants of yours are sticking to you and beginning to drive you stark staring mad. The thought of it is driving me a bit mad too, you filthy man."

Mycroft giggled quietly. "I fear I may just have to burn every _single_ thing that I am wearing."

"Mm." Greg kissed his cheek and nudged him with his hip in the direction of the bathroom. "Go on." He watched as Mycroft obeyed, suppressing a chuckle as he moved with far less than his usual grace, his gait a trifle stiff and awkward. "John, if you wouldn't mind..." John quickly shed his dressing gown to keep the sleeves from getting soaked and joined Greg at the sink. Between the two of them, the dishes were washed and dried and put away in a matter of moments.  
   
John grinned up at Greg and went up on his toes to press a swift kiss on his lips. "Don't use up all the hot water this time, my love. Please."   
   
"Best behaviour, Captain. I swear." He turned to Sherlock briefly. "Maybe you should have a bit of a lie-down on the sofa, baby. Help with that tum of yours."

"Mm." Sherlock watched as John turned to flip the kettle on for another quick brew and dug around in the pocket of his dressing gown. "Greg, wait." He held out a business card.

Greg took it with a little quirk of his brow. "What's this, baby?"

"The jeweller that I commissioned to make our rings. I thought you might like to have Mycroft's done in a similar style. He can alter yours, if you wish to add another stone. Something red, perhaps? I mean, if you were to follow my pattern, it would be grey for his eyes, but grey stones can be rather unappealing and would probably get lost in the platinum of the band. But of course, that's something to discuss between the two of you, isn't it? Maybe green - I've always thought Mycroft looked exceptional in green and there is this extraordinary stone out of Siberia, such a deep clear green, absolutely stunning, dreadful name though, chrome diopside, ugh, you'd think they'd come up with a better name than that for such a beautiful stone..."

Greg stepped up close and pulled Sherlock into a fierce kiss, effectively cutting off the random nonsense that he was spouting. "So I'm assuming that you discussed this with John and you're both okay with it?"

"More than okay. Rather insistent, actually." Greg turned to him in surprise and John shrugged awkwardly. "I can't explain, not really. All I know is that I want him to feel that he belongs. I want something to connect us all together. So when Sherlock mentioned that you were thinking of getting him something, I jumped on the idea."

Greg chuckled. "I just thought of it this morning, for Christ's sake."

Sherlock smirked. "No, the idea just _solidified_ for you this morning. You've been thinking of it for far longer, albeit unconsciously. Even before that declaration of yours, you'd been fiddling with your ring more often than normal, usually directly after Mycroft would leave for the night. Partially, it's your own possessiveness. You want people to know that he's unavailable. Not that he would ever succumb to another's advances; the idea that he would is rather laughable. He belongs to you, Greg. Utterly. You do know that, don't you?"

"Doesn't mean I don't want other people to know it as well."

"Yes, but you know that there are some out there that may view it as a challenge, my love. I know that I certainly had a sudden uptake in interest once I started wearing mine."

"Nothing is as valuable as that which is held in high regard by another." Sherlock blinked at his lovers' upraised brows. "I cannot deny that I have had to fend off some rather untoward advances, and yes, they did seem to increase upon the wearing of this symbol of my commitment to you both." He cleared his throat. "Thankfully, I've only had to get physical but once."

Greg suddenly bristled. "Has anyone molested you, baby?"

"The opposite, in fact. There was someone who got a little handsy, but I smacked him down rather effectively. My ring made quite the impression. On his face, that is." Sherlock blushed as Greg calmed down with a quiet chuckle and John giggled.

It had happened only the week before, as Sherlock was heading home from St. Barts on the tube, a bit late at night. His cab-hailing superpower had seemingly abandoned him for the night, so he had deigned to use - _shudder_ \- public transportation. Since it was somewhat later, the car wasn't too crowded, but there were still a decent amount of passengers. Sherlock hadn't thought anything of it as a man dressed in a neat business suit had stepped up behind him, grasping hold of the overhead bar.

He wasn't even aware of it at first, as the touch was so light. But he definitely became aware as the man's fingertips brushed against the full swell of one arse-cheek. Sherlock had whirled around, and without a second thought, had backhanded the man so strongly that he fell to the floor of the carriage. Ignoring the gasps of outrage from the other passengers, Sherlock crouched over the man and thrust his ring finger in the man's face. He had pointed to the stones one at a time and hissed, "Scotland Yard. Soldier. Next time you decide to grope a random stranger whilst on public transport, you may want to think about who's waiting at home for them." The man's eyes had widened in horror, his face gone completely white. Sherlock recalled the faint scratches on the man's cheek, remembering the sense of satisfaction he had felt as the man scuttled off the tube at the next stop, averting his eyes from everyone else on board.

Sherlock shook himself back to the present to find his lovers staring at him curiously. "So yes, I dealt with it. I'm sure that if Mycroft were to find himself in a similar situation, he would handle it with aplomb."

Greg snorted. "He has men to handle those sorts of things for him, Sherlock."

The taller man smirked cryptically. "My brother still enjoys being hands-on from time to time, Detective Inspector."

Greg growled. "He better bloody _not_. I'd bloody well _kill_ him if he got himself hurt."  
   
Both of his lovers looked at him, eyebrows askew. "You do realise the ridiculousness of the statement you just made, correct?"  
   
Greg growled again. "Doesn't matter. I can be as stupid as I like when defending me and mine."

Sherlock stood and positively melted into him, curving his body into Greg's wantonly. "I can't even tell you what it does to me when you get so protective of him, Greg. It makes me just want to - _unf_ \- eat you or something. _God_."

John allowed them one soul-searing kiss and then wriggled in between them, pushing at them both gently. "Sherlock, go lie down. Greg, go wash. I know I don't really need to say this, but I'm gonna do it anyway."

Greg grinned and said it with him in unison. "No mucking about." John smacked his chest lightly. "Yes, Captain Watson. I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft offers himself, negotiations for John's birthday present are opened, Sherlock comes to a realisation and doesn't go off all half-cocked for once...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to tag, because it's ever so brief, but there is a teeny bit of pee-play in this chapter. Teeny-tiny, and most likely never to return. Don't know why I feel compelled to leave it in, for some reason it makes it feel more real to me, like the odd little things that real people sometimes do to please their partners, y'know?
> 
> Anyhow - please comment - love you all! 
> 
> *mwah*

Greg stepped into the bathroom and immediately stripped down, grinning at the haphazard pile of soiled clothing on the floor. Usually his pet was much neater with his dirty laundry, folding it primly and placing it on the counter top before showering. Due to his apparent disregard, these pyjamas were clearly not worth salvaging. Greg raised the lid on the toilet, taking the opportunity to relieve himself. He quirked an eyebrow as the shower curtain twitched aside, and Mycroft tilted his head to watch. His hair had already been washed and was slicked back, accenting his high brow, suds cascading down his chest as the water rinsed them away.  
   
"Does this bother you, pet?" Greg always thought that people squeamish over certain bathroom activities after they had already violated your body in every way imaginable to be rather ridiculous. When it came to the simple stuff, of course. If it were the other - well, then - get the hell out, I've business to take care of, buster. He smiled as Mycroft shook his head and bit his lip. His grey eyes took on that particular gleam, his Holmes curiosity coming to the fore.  
   
"Gregory, I - " His teeth dug into his lip just a bit harder.  
   
Greg grinned and stopped himself mid-stream, shaking his head a little. God, that felt so weird. He stepped into the shower and tucked himself close into his pet, aiming at his leg. "You sure, My? I thought this was on your no-no list."  
   
Mycroft blushed. "That's more the - other. I simply cannot comprehend..." He shuddered delicately. "As for this, well, I've never been close enough to anyone to think of it, and I suddenly find myself intrigued. Do you mind, Gregory?"  
   
"Anything to make you happy, pet." Greg sighed momentarily as he let it out, both of them tilting their heads to watch as his stream flowed over Mycroft's creamy skin. His pet stroked his side idly and hummed vaguely. When he was finished, Greg lifted Mycroft's face and kissed him gently. "So?"  
   
Mycroft smiled faintly and shrugged. "It was - intimate, but I cannot say that it did anything for me in particular, my dear. I do appreciate your kind indulgence."  
   
Greg huffed out a quiet laugh and kissed his forehead. "Good, because it certainly didn't do anything for me. You are most welcome, pet. You do know that I would indulge just about any little experiment you'd like to attempt, right? God knows I've done the same for Sherlock. Now, are there any bits that you happened to neglect while waiting for me?"  
   
Mycroft promptly turned and stuck his arse out slightly, glancing coquettishly over his shoulder at his lover. "Well, there is a particular piece of my anatomy that I can never seem to get clean enough. I may require your assistance, Gregory."  
   
"Oh, you damnable, horrible,  _lovely_ man." Greg hummed in Mycroft's ear as he took soap and flannel to his backside. "We can't linger, my sweet. You're an awful tease, doing this to me right now."  
   
"Is it really a tease when you know that I'll give in every time?" Mycroft moaned quietly as Greg's soapy finger circled and pushed against his hole ever-so-gently. He pouted as Greg withdrew and shifted him under the spray to rinse thoroughly before stepping under himself.  
   
He handed the soap to his pet and reached for the shampoo. "Yes, it is. It's horrible and awful and oh-so-wonderful and I never want you to stop." Mycroft smiled brightly as he began to run soapy hands slowly down Greg's chest. "Quickly, my love. We need to share some of this hot water with John and Sherlock, you know."  
   
The pout returned. "Then maybe they should just join us."  
   
Greg let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Good God, nobody would be able to move and there would be water everywhere... Not very practical, pet." Greg's vision went a little distant. " _Fun_ , though."  
   
"Indeed it would be." Mycroft crouched to wash Greg's legs and looked up at him, licking his lips as his prick twitched under his scrutiny. "Gregory..."  
   
"No, pet. Later. I've something for you upstairs." His lover's grey eyes gleamed and he stood abruptly, turning Greg around so he could swipe the cloth over his back. After a final rinse, Greg turned off the water and watched as Mycroft stepped out of the tub, his creamy skin dripping and shining in the electric light. _"Unf."_ Mycroft quirked one brow and smiled slowly. "Listen, I was thinking. Your offer - John's birthday present." His pet paused in towelling off his hair and blinked at him. "You should be the one to ask Sherlock for permission."  
   
"Oh, but..."  
   
"I actually think he'll be a little more open to the idea if it came from you. So he knows that it's something you want to do, and not just something that I'm asking you to do. You see?"  
   
Mycroft frowned and then held out a towel for Greg to step into. He ran it over his lover's body and nodded slightly. "I do, Gregory." He paused after running the towel over Greg's head. "At the breakfast table, your little game..."  
   
"Mm. He - recalled - some of what happened yesterday, but there was no indication that he remembered anything from when you were younger. I think that's still somewhat buried, although I can't say that it will remain that way. Not if he decides to go all Mind Palace on it."  
   
Mycroft snorted and wrapped the towel around Greg's middle before donning his dressing gown. "I understand, my dear. Shall we, then?"

Greg combed his fingers through Mycroft's damp hair, making sure it was parted the way he knew his pet preferred it. Mycroft smiled gently and did the same for him before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

They found them in the sitting room, Sherlock flat on his back on the sofa, with John sitting on the coffee table. The smaller man had a cup of tea in his right hand, and his left was rubbing rhythmic circles on Sherlock's stomach under his t-shirt. His earlier overindulgence seemed to have been assuaged a bit, as his face no longer held that vaguely green-about-the-gills look. In fact, he was humming quietly and as they watched, his hips canted upward ever so slightly as John made a larger pass, pressing his groin into his arm.

John chuckled low. "Naughty, baby."

Sherlock grinned in return and opened his eyes slowly. "Oh, yes, Papa." Greg's warm laughter made him startle slightly and he sat up abruptly, nearly jostling John off of his perch. Sherlock blushed to see them both standing there, still slightly damp from the shower. Mycroft fought the urge to step behind Gregory, to hide himself from his brother's appraising stare.

Not that Gregory would have allowed that, as he was even now pushing him forward slightly. "Go on, pet."

John blinked up at him. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Um." Mycroft found himself fiddling with the ends of his belt and forced himself to drop them and tuck his hands behind his back. "John. I know that you have a birthday coming up and I - well. I thought that perhaps I could - _um_."

John felt a swift flash of desire and glanced aside to Sherlock, who looked more amused by his brother's coy behaviour than anything else. "You wish to entertain John for his birthday."

Mycroft sucked in a breath and held it as he nodded. "Yes, if that's something that he would enjoy. Only if you permit it, of course."

Sherlock fought off his initial reaction, the stupid, illogical need to just refuse outright. _No, brother, no. Not until I've had you, seen you wrecked by my own hand. I've waited so long, I never knew what I was waiting for, but now I know, and no, nobody new will touch you before I do._ Stupid, Sherlock. Use your brain, those wonderful skills that Mycroft himself helped you to perfect all those years ago. Look at him, and see. A little embarrassed at standing there in nothing more than his thin dressing gown, but not self-conscious, not really. Far more at ease than he would have been in this situation even three months ago.

Comfortable, even. Standing before his brother and the man who virtually owned him, blatantly offering his sexual services to their mutual lover. Sherlock knew now that his brother's earlier 'maybe' had really been a 'yes, of course, just not _now_ '. He knew with absolute certainty that he would be able to taste him at will, if he could just be patient. Not that patience had ever been one of his strong suits, but for _him_ , for Mycroft, he could wait. Oh, yes - wait just as long as his dear brother needed.

He didn't have to look at John to know that this was something that he had wanted for quite a while, the opportunity to play with his lover's pet, especially since Greg had been so complimentary of him. Never in Sherlock's presence, of course, that would have been rather gauche. No, he had never heard the praise out loud, but he had seen the particular way that John would gaze at Mycroft as he entered or left the flat, those lingering glances that fairly screamed 'want'.

It had only intensified over the past couple of weeks, as Greg and Mycroft's relationship had deepened, as his brother had started staying nights, neatly insinuating himself into the household, had started _cooking_ , for God's sake. Sherlock snorted internally. If there was one man that could prove that particular old adage true, it was John. The path to his metaphorical heart quite clearly wound through his stomach (with a little detour past the groin along the way).

This was something that they both wanted quite badly, but had been holding back on for his sake, out of consideration for his feelings. Since Sherlock understood that he would be able to partake at some point, he found his own anxiety mollified somewhat. There was still a selfish hobgoblin somewhere in his belly that was fighting to burst out and say 'No! Me first!', but he smacked it across the face and sent it scurrying into the dungeons of his Mind Palace. He loved both John and Mycroft deeply, and love meant making sacrifices from time to time, correct? Not that they wouldn't be making it up to him later... But a birthday - a special occasion calls for a special treat, does it not?

Sherlock nodded abruptly, smiling at John's delighted grin and Mycroft's quiet sigh. "Four hours in the room upstairs, on an evening of John's choosing. Greg is to be present for the whole thing, of course."

"I'm to act as chaperone, then?"

"Not entirely. You can participate, I just expect you to keep a clear head and look out for my interests."

"Ah. Restrictions?"

"Only two - the previously stated desire that you are present through it all, and I would prefer if they did not engage in any - _well_." Sherlock hesitated.

Greg chortled. "God, I love it when you get all bashful. You don't want them fucking."

Sherlock glared even as a furious blush heated his cheeks. "Not directly, no."

Mycroft moaned low and reached out to Greg for support. He happily gave it, wrapping one arm around his pet's waist and pulling him in tight. "So no cock-to-arse, but anything else goes."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and nodded. "Anything else that John desires that Mycroft is willing to give."

"Oh _Lord_." Greg grunted and hoisted Mycroft upright, his knees having threatened to buckle.

John slid off the coffee table and simply straddled Sherlock's thighs, snogging him so mercilessly that they were both a little cross-eyed when they came up for air. Sherlock smiled crookedly. "You're welcome."

"So, love... Your birthday is Wednesday, do you want to schedule it for the weekend?"

John looked at both Greg and Mycroft, biting his lip as he contemplated. "Your test results should be coming in later this week - I'd rather not interfere with whatever nasty little game you two are planning to celebrate that. And if we play the weekend after we won't have to worry about silly little foil packets and all that nonsense. We'll really have some fun without having to worry about protection, won't we?"

This time, Greg was unable to prevent Mycroft from sliding neatly onto the floor. Sherlock hummed quietly as John ground up against him, unconsciously responding to the delightful sight of his brother on his knees, his head bowed. John moaned as Sherlock grinned and reached around to tweak his bum.

Greg shook his head and stood behind Mycroft, his hands on his shoulders. "I guess that means the negotiations are done for now..." He grinned at the two men wrapped up in each other on the sofa. "We'll keep it open for discussion, though, and revisit it before it actually happens. A fortnight is a long time to wait on something like this. If anybody starts to have doubts, we'll all sit down and get it out of the way as soon as possible, all right?"

Everybody nodded, and Greg bent down to Mycroft's ear. "C'mon, love. Upstairs with you, but don't start dressing just yet. I still have a surprise waiting." He pulled him to his feet and gently pushed him in the direction of the stairs. "I'll be up in a minute." He watched as Mycroft took a couple of shaky steps and started to climb the stairs before striding over to the sofa and giving Sherlock a solid kiss of his own.

"Thank you, baby. I know what this means to you." Greg turned to John and kissed him as well. "So much to look forward to..." He reached in between them, grinning as he palmed both of their erections briefly. "I think we're going to be occupied for a little while, and I do believe that we left plenty of hot water for you to enjoy..." Greg hummed as he stood and headed toward the bedroom to pick out some clothing. He glanced back over his shoulder with a little giggle. "Have fun!"

Sherlock threw a wild look at John and nearly tossed him off his lap as they hastily stood and then thundered down the hallway toward the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Greg and his pet playing again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so - okay. Definitely not one of my strongest pieces, but it was there, so I wrote it and now I'm posting it. I've actually been mostly caught up in John's birthday play-party, but until certain other things are posted, I can't really go there, now, can I? (Even though I'm up to three chapters on that so far...) So I find myself in a bit of an odd place - I was thinking about writing up their big day out, but now I find it rather uninspiring, so... I dunno. Is that something that you guys would like to see? 
> 
> Please do comment, let me know how I'm doing - love ya bunches!

Greg was still chuckling at John and Sherlock's antics as he entered the attic room. He tossed his clothing on the desk before turning his attention to the naked man kneeling on the bed. Mycroft's eyes were wide, his arousal obvious by the faint ring of grey around enormous black pupils, and in the beautiful flush to the skin of his face and chest. He crawled right to the edge of the bed and reached out for his lover, his fingers wiggling madly in their eagerness to touch him.  
   
"Oh, you lovely creature." Greg hummed as Mycroft's nimble fingers made short work of his towel and reached down to stroke his swiftly hardening cock. He gasped and rocked forward on his toes as his pet tugged at his bollocks. "You need release, don't you, love? A proper one this time."  
   
Mycroft moaned. "Yes, Gregory. Oh, please. I don't know quite - it's like all my insides are all jumbled up and bouncing around..."  
   
Greg nuzzled into the scars on Mycroft's neck. "Does the idea of being with John really turn you on that much?" He frowned, feeling a slight tinge of - something - deep in his gut. No - he wasn't jealous. Was he?  
   
Mycroft hesitated, pulling back to look at Greg's face. "Well, yes. And no. It's difficult to explain, Gregory. I wouldn't want him without you. I want to see you together." He bit his lip and leant in to whisper. "I want to watch you fuck him, Gregory. I want to see you own him the way you own me, if only for that moment. I want to feel him in my mouth while you're buried deep inside him. I want you to push him into me, Gregory. That tight, toned little body rocking between us, my love, feeling him breaking apart on my tongue but knowing it was because of you... Oh. Oh God." Mycroft's body shuddered, his fingers tightening on Greg's cock. "Oh, that first taste, Gregory. There's nothing like that first taste."  
   
" _Jesus_ , pet." Greg ran his hands down Mycroft's back and squeezed his arse hard. He gasped again as his lover began to stroke him firmly. "Stop that. I don't want to come yet." Mycroft sat back abruptly, twining his long fingers together and resting them in between his knees.  
   
He blinked at Greg a little mournfully. "I am sorry, Gregory. I find myself feeling overly...enthusiastic."  
   
Greg grinned and reached out to pinch his chin briefly. "Nothing wrong with that, love. I just - well, I'd like to give you your surprise first, that's all." Mycroft fidgeted as Greg went to the toy box and started rummaging around. "Now, where - I've been holding onto this for a little while, waiting for an opportunity where I could take you out. Shite... Ah." He pulled out a small, plain cardboard box with a flourish. He turned a stern glare on Mycroft. "You stay right there - I need to - um." He snatched a packet of batteries out of the small trunk and turned toward the bathroom.  
   
Mycroft watched Greg over his shoulder as he disappeared into the tiny toilet, laden with his gift, the 'surprise' that Mycroft had discovered a little over a week ago, of course. He felt a swift spike of desire and his cock twitched hard, striving to be free. He knew that John was rather fond of these kinds of remote-controlled toys, and he had been looking forward to Gregory making use of this one on him, but he had not expected that he was to be out in public while wearing it. He fiddled with his cock-cage briefly, glad that he was certain to be bound when they finally did make their little excursion into the outside world. Otherwise, he would be completely unable to control himself. Not necessarily because of the toy, but more likely because of the hands that would be wielding it.  
   
He smiled gently to himself as he heard running water, and tilted his head ever-so-slightly. There was a faint, indistinct buzzing over it all and Mycroft's smile widened even as his body quivered. Oh, God. He hadn't expected to react so strongly as the indistinct idea of sharing himself with John had become something solid and real. Sherlock had agreed far more readily than Mycroft had anticipated; not that he thought he really would have refused John or himself anything they wanted as much as they clearly wanted this. He had read a little bit of his brother's conflict on his face, but hadn't allowed himself to deduce, not really. As much as they were open books to one another, sometimes a man needed some privacy to work things out on his own. Not that Sherlock had really learnt that lesson yet...  
   
Mycroft was startled out of his contemplation as Gregory came back out of the toilet with his hands behind his back. Mycroft bit his lip and prepared himself to act surprised and delighted. Not that he'd have to pretend the latter - he always was thrilled when Gregory gave him a gift, especially when it was a new toy. He let his eyes widen briefly and he squirmed with anticipation as Gregory held it out to him. He wrapped his fingers around the pleasing firmness of the silicone and squealed as his lover also handed over the remote, letting Mycroft cycle it up and down while gauging the intensity of the vibrations in his fist.  
   
Greg laughed. "Like it, pet?"  
   
"Oh, Gregory... I always love it when you get me something new. You know that."  
   
"Yes, I do." He leant forward a bit with a wicked grin and a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "I also know that you're fibbing to me. This isn't a surprise for you at all."  
     
Mycroft's head dropped and he looked at Greg from underneath his lashes. "Not entirely, no. It may not be a surprise, but that does not mean I am not utterly delighted, and very much looking forward to putting it to the test." He handed it back and promptly turned to get onto his hands and knees. "Please, Gregory." Mycroft threw his lover a smouldering look over his shoulder. "Fill me up, my love."  
   
"Oh, Christ. Sweet Lord above, I swear you are the biggest bloody tart..." Greg growled and leant forward to nibble on Mycroft's arse, dipping his head lower to nose against his soft bollocks and lick at his perineum. Mycroft gasped out loud, unconsciously jerking away. "Soon, my love. Oh so soon and I'll be able lick every bit of you, from top to toe. Oh, saints preserve, I just may die a happy, happy man."  
   
Mycroft growled in return, arching back into him. "No dying until I get my licks in, Gregory." They both dissolved into breathless giggles, even as Mycroft continued to writhe against Greg's hand. "Please, Gregory. Oh, please."  
   
"All right, pet." He retrieved a bottle of lube and liberally slicked two fingers, working them into Mycroft's arse one at a time. Mycroft shuddered and sighed in relief. "Mm. How do you want to get off this time?"  
   
Mycroft gasped as broad fingers brushed oh-so-gently against his prostate. "Let me loose, Gregory. Please."  
   
"Oh, I will. But what then?"  
   
"If you would - oh my - oh my dear... Your mouth -  _ngh_ God - oh please."  
   
"Mm. You want me to suck you off?"  
   
"God, yes. Your mouth, Gregory - is a marvel. So - hot - yes, and clever. So much more clever than you think..."  
   
Greg grinned and withdrew his fingers, liberally coating the new plug with lube and placing the tip at Mycroft's hole. "You ready, pet?" Mycroft nodded and pressed back, working the tip in on his own. He wriggled slightly as Greg pushed it in, one bare increment at a time. Mycroft snarled quietly, wriggling some more until Greg stopped his forward motion and gave one cheek a light smack. "Oh, pet. Are you truly that eager?"  
   
"Of course I am. I've been waiting to feel this inside me for at least a week, and good God I want your mouth on me. Now. Or, you know - ten minutes ago, for fuck's sake."  
   
Greg blinked as he resumed pressing the toy in steadily. "That's two fucks I've heard from you in the past half-hour, Mycroft. You are desperate, aren't you?"  
   
Mycroft whined. "Gregory..." He grunted as the widest part of the toy breached his entrance and the rest was pushed in all at once. Greg groaned as Mycroft flexed his arse and the toy bobbed between his creamy cheeks. Mycroft whined again as he circled his hips, letting the plug settle into place. "Gregory, please."  
   
"Oh, Jesus, pet. Yes, yes. Flip over for me." Mycroft complied instantly, drawing his knees apart and toward his chest. "Christ, if I watched that much longer I would've bloody well popped off on my own."  
   
"Don't you dare, Gregory. I want you to fuck my mouth when we're done here."  
   
"Not only a tart, but a rather demanding one as well."  
   
"You love it."  
   
"God help me, I do." Greg grinned sharply as he twisted the little knob in his hand, watching with gleaming eyes as Mycroft moaned loudly and his arse clenched around the vibrations. He leant down, allowing the key on its chain around his neck to dangle over the cock-cage. He let metal knock gently against metal, watching Mycroft's eyes get bigger and darker with each passing second. Mycroft bit his lip hard, nearly drawing blood as he tried to hold back his pleas.  
   
He finally broke as Greg started to run one hand down his own body, subtly threatening to take matters in hand. "Haven't I begged enough? Gregory, my love, I implore you. Set me free, please. Take me in your wonderful mouth and shatter me to pieces. Please! I want to come - I need it, oh God, I need you..."  
   
Greg winked and passed over the remote. "Here, pet. I'll let you play with this for the time being, let you get used to it." Mycroft promptly turned it to its lowest setting and simply left it there as Greg took the chain off his neck and unlocked him with trembling fingers. He slid the cage off and both men moaned as Mycroft's prick immediately stiffened. "Oh, yes, my sweet. So very lovely..." Greg nosed along the length of his pet's cock, nuzzling into the vibrant red of his pubic hair. He licked at his soft bollocks, and pressed the buzzing toy deeper into his body.  
   
Mycroft's body arched and he keened with absolute need. "Oh, Gregory... Please."

Greg ran his hands up the backs of Mycroft's thighs as he straightened slightly and tilted his head as he looked down at the man writhing so mindlessly under his power. "I wonder... I wonder what it would take for you to lose yourself enough that you would simply take what you wanted, rather than waiting for someone to give it to you." He lowered his head slowly, his dark eyes fixed on Mycroft's desperate face. "If I were to just - oh, I don't know - just hold myself - here...." Mycroft suddenly went utterly still as his stiff cock bobbed against Greg's chin. "Yes, here, so close, and open, and ready - would you fuck my mouth, pet? To find relief after being teased so horribly? Could you hold me down and just take what you needed?"  
   
Mycroft shivered involuntarily as Greg's hot breath brushed over the leaking head of his prick. "Gregory... I - " He bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling and somehow found the strength within himself to force his entire body to let go of its tension, to fall back against the mattress and relax.  
   
Greg tilted his head and lowered it just a touch more, letting Mycroft's suddenly limp legs fall into the crooks of his elbows. "Pet?"  
   
"No, Gregory. I could not. Not unless it was something you asked of me, and even if you did, I do not believe I would find any pleasure in it." He blinked rapidly as he tilted his head back, exposing his throat. "I am sadly lacking in that regard, and if that is what you are seeking at the moment, perhaps John would be willing to oblige you." Mycroft's hand started to wander down his body, although the motion was rather lacklustre. "I can take care of myself."  
   
Greg frowned and slapped his hand away. "Stop sulking, Mycroft. Now." The man on the bed lifted his head slightly and quirked an eyebrow. "I wasn't trying to test your limits or force you into some kind of self-introspective funk, pet. I was just trying to tease the ever-loving hell out of you. I wanted to see if I could get you to a properly frenzied state. It was just me being silly, because of course I know you, love. I know that you wouldn't take pleasure in such a thing, but I still wanted to see if I could get you there. But I see now that you'd rather just shut down, and of course that's not acceptable."  
   
With that, he snatched the remote out of Mycroft's limp hand and turned the dial to '4', ignoring the loud moan as he lowered his head and sank his teeth into the inside of his thigh. Mycroft's back arched again, and just as he started to relax, Greg darted in and laid another bite on his tender flesh, snarling quietly. He smiled viciously as the muscles in Mycroft's thighs twitched between his teeth, and shook his head a little, digging in even further.

Mycroft hissed as he writhed, sounding for all the world like nothing more than a supremely pissed-off feline. Greg tilted his head as he pulled back slightly, watching his pet squirming and undulating against the mattress before digging his fingers into Mycroft's inner thighs and spreading them as far as he could. Mycroft hissed again, and Greg countered with a low growl, showing his teeth as his lover raised his head and blinked at him lazily. Mycroft grinned at him in return, his hissing turning into something low and contented in the back of his throat, a questioning mewl.

"Like a bloody cat in heat, aren't you, pet?"

"Gregory..." Mycroft rolled his hips as he rolled his 'R's, his tone just high enough to be considered proper wheedling.

Greg huffed a warm breath over his pet's bollocks, laughing gently at another quiet mewl. "Again, pet. God, I love the noises you make."

Mycroft smiled crookedly. "Only if you - oh _God_ , yes!" He threw his head back as his lover finally swallowed him down, and then he proceeded to make as many silly noises as Gregory wanted to hear, because Jesus yes, his mouth was a miracle, so hot, his tongue so nimble and his teeth, oh fuck - those strong teeth nibbling so delicately on his foreskin... Mycroft never thought that it would be possible to love teeth on his nethers as much as he did now. But oh God he did, he really did and now any manufactured 'silly' noises swiftly transitioned into real ones, needy and desperate, bubbling in his chest and bursting from his throat.

Had he any sense left in his head, Mycroft would have swiftly realised that he still very much sounded like a cat in heat, and that with every vocalisation that he made, Gregory responded with another strong pull of tongue and mouth. He panted and mewled and moaned and yowled and Greg grinned around a solid mouthful of flesh before reaching for that little remote and flipping the dial as high as it would go.

Mycroft's back arched clear off the mattress, but he dimly felt Gregory holding him down, pushing the toy in deeper and then swallowing around him, and he came with a thin, choked-off scream, his vision blanking out pure white for a moment. He blinked back into himself and wriggled against Gregory's tongue, still working lazy broad stripes against his spent flesh.

"Well, Jesus fucking Christ, pet."

_"Nghk."_ Mycroft swallowed. "The toy, Gregory. Could you..."

"Ah, fuck." Greg hastened to turn the vibe off and placed the remote on the bedside table. "I am sorry, my love."

Mycroft heaved out a sigh of relief and sat up slowly, starting to slide off the bed, obviously intent on going to his knees. Greg put a hand on his chest and shook his head. Mycroft looked down his body to his frankly astonishingly hard cock, nicely red and dripping somewhat steadily. "Oh, but Gregory..."

"Not like that, pet." Mycroft's eyes widened in delight and he shifted so he was on his hands and knees, wriggling his arse subtly. Greg chuckled and gave it a swift smack, his body shuddering at Mycroft's quiet moan. "Not like that either, you incorrigible hussy." His pet turned with a small frown, and Greg had to chuckle again. "Go clean yourself up so I can lock you away. Take your time, so I can calm down a bit. I think if you even breathed on me right now I'd pop off." Greg's breath caught slightly as Mycroft smiled at him shyly. "That's so not helping... Go on, now. Just - give me a few minutes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look into a regular day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small bit of fluff in preparation for Greg and Mycroft's bonding game, which may still take a chapter or two to arrive. I found myself delving a bit into Mycroft's past for the next chapter, with some surprising results. Surprising to me, anyhow. 
> 
> So I may still write up the 'grand day out' that would follow directly from chapter 12, but right now I'm finding it very difficult to get into that headspace. I hope this suffices for the moment. 
> 
> Please do let me know how I'm doing. Thank you for sticking with me - you are all beautiful creatures!

Due to flu season, John was pulling an extra shift at the clinic, his oh-so-wonderful day thus far having been filled with remarkably snotty noses and horrendously wracking coughs. He glanced at his watch - only fifteen minutes left to go... Of course, that was when Sarah called him into her office. With a small sigh, she shifted the detritus on her desk and pulled out a manila folder, tentatively passing it over to him.  
   
"I know everybody signed the proper permissions, but this still feels odd to me."  
   
John smiled before flipping the folder open and perusing the contents swiftly. He glanced back up at her vibrantly pink face before bursting out into laughter. "Thanks, Sarah. You know that I appreciate you doing this for us, the circumstances being a bit - unusual and all."  
   
She cleared her throat before reaching out to tug at his sleeve a little. "John. I know it isn't my business, but... I'm just wondering..."  
   
John took a step closer and clasped his hand around hers. "Sarah. You and I have been _kidnapped_ together, for Christ's sake. You know you can ask me anything, right? I may not be able to answer, but I can't begrudge you any curiosity you may have."  
   
Sarah shook her head slightly. "Not curiosity, not really. Not that I wouldn't mind a brief peek, but no - " She shook her head a little more firmly. "God - no, that's really, _really_  none of my business. It's just that - with so many involved in your odd little circle - are you getting what you need, John? Are _you_ happy?"  
   
John tilted his head and squeezed her hand. "So happy. It's extraordinary. You always picture your life going a certain way, y'know? And then something happens and it knocks you off your feet and good God I never thought it would be like this, but it is and it is utterly - fantastic. Really." He grinned at her. "You're worried about me! That's so - sweet."  
   
Sarah blushed again before coughing delicately. "I know we didn't have the most auspicious start, but I do think of you as a friend, John. So yes, I worry."  
   
"Maybe we'll have you over for dinner some night and you can see for yourself how happy we all are." John's grin sharpened at Sarah's little intake of breath. "Dinner, love - not dinner _and_ a show." She smacked him with her free hand even as the blush deepened. John held up the folder before releasing her hand. "Gotta share the good news." He hesitated briefly before leaning in to kiss her cheek.  
   
She smacked him again. "Go on, away with you. Your shift's over anyhow." Sarah sat down behind her desk as John left, attempting to clear the fluster off her face before her next appointment.  
   
John went to retrieve his jacket from his makeshift office, pausing briefly to send a text to both Greg and Mycroft.  
   
 _'Good news, m'lads. Whatever filthy game you're planning for this weekend can proceed without any nasty rubber in the way...'_  
   
Greg was alone in his office, unhappily shifting one pile of paper onto another when his phone buzzed across the desk. He glared at it briefly, then sighed as he reached out to read the message. With just a quick peek around to make sure nobody was watching, he did a little happy dance right there in his chair.  
   
 _'John, my dearest flower - do you know how much I love you?'_  
  
 _'Dearest what now? I have an idea, although you only seem to mention it after I give you something you desperately want...'_  
  
 _'Shh, love. Don't say such horrible things. You know you're my favourite.'_  
  
 _'Only until Sherlock does that thing with his tongue - you know, the twisty thing? And then I'll be shunted off to second place again.'_  
  
 _';-p'_  
   
Mycroft was in a meeting when John's message came through, of course. Although the negotiations were at a somewhat delicate stage, he was able to sneak a look at his mobile when it buzzed quietly. He kept his face as neutral as possible, but he could not suppress the tiny shiver of delight that raced up his spine. Only a few minutes later, Gregory's text made his phone jump in his hand once again.  
   
 _'Pet. When will I see you tonight?'_  
  
 _'I'm afraid that I'll be working rather late this evening. It would perhaps be best if I didn't visit tonight.'_  
  
 _':(  Tomorrow, then.'_  
  
 _'Fridays belong to John now, my love. Besides, I think that Saturday is the earliest I will be able to drag myself away.'_  
  
 _'Unacceptable.'_  
   
Mycroft winced slightly, and risking a quick glance up at the table, noting that nobody seemed to be paying him much mind, as the tension between the two parties was beginning to escalate. If he weren't so exposed, he may have even cowered slightly. He found it rather astounding that even through the cold mechanical means of a mobile phone, through a blasted text message, Gregory's tone could clearly be heard in his head, and what Mycroft was hearing right now was not good. Not in the least.  
   
 _'I am in a meeting, Gregory.'_  
  
 _'You will call me when you are free.'_  
  
 _'Yes, of course.'_  
   
With that, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood, towering over the squabbling factions at his table. The cold gleam in his eye made both parties stumble to a halt, their faces slowly draining of colour as he looked at them each in turn. "Gentlemen. Cease that dreadful prattling. Have you resolved all of your petty concerns yet?" One man opened his mouth as if to speak, and Mycroft turned the full effect of his dead-eyed glare on him. The offending appendage snapped shut with a satisfying clack of teeth. "Good. Now. Here is what is going to happen." For the next two hours, Mycroft outlined exactly how to correct their infantile little issues, with Anthea taking notes and altering the contracts as certain details were hashed out.  
   
Mycroft sighed as he stood once again, nodding at the representatives. "We will send you an amended agreement first thing in the morning. You may, of course, go over it with your officials and legal teams, but I expect signed copies on my desk by early next week. Is that understood?"

Both men nodded curtly and extended their hands as if to shake, but Mycroft simply walked out, leaving them to turn their paltry courtesies on one another. Which, he reflected ironically, had they just done in the beginning, perhaps the bloody mess that he was attempting to straighten out never would have happened in the first place.  
   
A few moments later he was sequestered in his office, staring at the notes he had prepared for the next of his interminable meetings. Anthea knocked and then entered, bearing a sandwich and a soda. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at her.  
   
"I thought perhaps something a little more fortifying than tea was required, sir."  
   
"Anthea. To the stalwart British temperament, nothing could possibly be more fortifying than tea."  
   
"All right, then. Perhaps I thought you might be a bit sick of it after downing so much during that last round of talks." She paused and nodded to the mobile that was sitting by Mycroft's right hand. "You should call him." She turned a small smile on him. "No, let me rephrase that. You need to call him, sir." Mycroft slumped ever-so-slightly. "Before he calls you."  
   
Mycroft turned to face her slowly, his eyes going wide in shock. "You didn't." Anthea tilted her head and one shoulder came up in a tiny shrug. "Traitor! Foul - betrayer! You... _gah!_ I knew I never should have allowed you two to exchange numbers..."  
   
"Oh, do hush, sir." With another significant nod at his phone, the Judas in high heels left Mycroft's office, closing the door behind her firmly. Mycroft sighed heavily and picked up his phone, hitting the speed dial for Gregory's number.  
   
"Pet." Mycroft cringed inwardly at the curt tone of Gregory's voice. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, your meeting was over a little while ago."  
   
"Yes, Gregory. I had to take a moment - it was a four hour meeting, my love. Much tea had been consumed."  
   
Mycroft closed his eyes, picturing Gregory sitting behind his desk, suit rumpled and tie pulled aside. He could clearly see his eyebrows raising. "They don't let you take piss breaks?"  
   
"They could hardly stop me if I felt it necessary, but one does not like to show weakness in certain situations."  
   
"It's a basic human need, Mycroft. Not a weakness."  
   
"I prefer they don't see me as human, my dear."  
   
" _Pfft_. If you make yourself ill, I'm not going to be very happy with you."  
   
Mycroft cleared his throat quietly. "I sense that you're already not happy with me..."  
   
"Don't you whinge at me, Mycroft. What is this nonsense about not coming to me until bloody Saturday?"  
   
"My work is at a critical stage, Gregory. In fact, I have another set of negotiations to oversee in a half-hour."  
   
"Work, that's fine - but, that's three nights without seeing you. Three!"  
   
Mycroft huffed out a quiet laugh. "It's Thursday, my love. That's only two nights. One of which is not even at our liberty to take." Again, with his eyes closed, he could clearly see the scowl on Gregory's face. He shivered slightly as the man on the other line growled faintly.  
   
"With something to celebrate too - something that we've both been waiting for rather eagerly."  
   
"Something that we will celebrate. On Saturday." Mycroft paused, his heart beating just a touch too fast. "Gregory, please."  
   
"Pet." Gregory's tone suddenly softened considerably, and the full-body shudder that Mycroft had been suppressing since he picked up the phone broke free, sliding down his spine and exploding in his belly like a bomb. "What's this about?"  
   
"I just - I..." Mycroft shook his head. "I want it to be done properly."  
   
"Oh, Mycroft..." Greg sighed deeply. "It's just you and me, pet. What isn't proper about that?"  
   
"Absolutely nothing. I just want - well, I want it to be special, that's all."  
   
"Every moment is special with you, my love. Does it really matter if we play a silly game or not?"  
   
"Gregory, you're very sweet, but I have to say that in this instance, yes. It does matter."  
   
"Explain yourself, pet."  
   
Mycroft sighed. "Gregory, I have another meeting..."  
   
"Explain." Mycroft shuddered again, Gregory's curt tone striking him somewhere beneath his sternum this time.  
   
"You recall the story of my first time, yes?"  
   
"I recall that it wasn't exactly pleasant."  
   
"No. I wish to overwrite that in my memory with this occasion."  
   
"Ah, the Holmes hard drive - just delete and rewrite, eh?" Greg sighed deeply. "It's not like we're planning flowers and champagne, Mycroft. It's a game. A dirty little game."  
   
"Yes. Something light-hearted and frivolous, a fun little romp with my Gregory. Something that I will treasure for all my days to come." Mycroft cleared his throat. "Please, my love. Please give me this."  
   
"Jesus, pet. You know I'd give you anything, don't you?" Greg blew out another heavy sigh. "All right. I'm still not happy about not seeing you until bloody Saturday, though." He lowered his voice just a touch, and Mycroft shivered again. "C'mon, Myc. Come to me tonight. I can behave myself."  
   
"Gregory. You cannot tell me that throughout this entire conversation you have not been harbouring fantasies of coming here to my office, bending me over my desk and simply taking what is your due."  
   
"Fiend. If I wasn't before, I certainly am now. Fuck."  
   
"I must go - I have less than ten minutes to prepare for my next meeting."  
   
"Yes, yes. I _will_ expect you Saturday evening. Early. As early as possible. And you better eat that sandwich that Anthea brought you, pet."  
   
With that, Gregory clicked off, leaving Mycroft to think that perhaps having a spy in the office could be at least as effective as having hidden cameras positioned throughout, if not more so. Could Donovan possibly be persuaded... No. No, she was far too loyal, and deeply suspicious of anyone with the surname 'Holmes', anyhow.  _Hm_. Mycroft absent-mindedly picked up one of the sandwich halves and started to nibble on it as he mentally went over the roster of Gregory's team, debating which of them might be willing to turn traitor as easily as his own assistant apparently had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits his spa, and gets lost in some memories...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't mean to tease you guys, you know... The muse says 'flashback!' and poof! - there's a bloody flashback. I may have another chapter before the end of the week, but I cannot guarantee it at this point. Hopefully this will tide you all over for a bit! It is a bit longer than my usual chapters...
> 
> Please comment, let me know how I'm doing. I'm still so awed that so many seem interested in my little world...
> 
> *mwah*

It was customary for Mycroft to work Saturdays, as the relative peace of the mostly deserted office gave him the quiet he needed to really buckle down and get things done. He would typically put in at least eight hours, if not the usual ten or twelve of his normal weekday. But today, he sent Anthea home early and then left himself after only four. He wouldn't be behind on Monday - not giving himself the option to go and see Gregory in the evenings had seen him working even later hours on Thursday and Friday than he normally would have abided.  
   
Rather than immediately going home, Mycroft decided that a bit of pampering was in order, so he told George to take him to the spa. He hadn't made an appointment, but these people were used to catering to the most affluent individuals living in London - they wouldn't blink twice at any over-privileged arse that deigned to cross their threshold, standing appointment or not. After all, they were paid very handsomely for their obsequiousness.  
   
And indeed, the receptionist absolutely gushed as he entered the premises, fawning over him as he waited for his usual attendant to come fetch him. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, it's been months, simply months, but you don't look any different, no, you're radiant - oh, have you been seeing someone other than us, you naughty man?" The glare that Mycroft turned on the poor girl may have crumbled stone, but she was truly too stupid to even notice, and just kept blithering on about how wonderful he looked.  
   
Mycroft was fighting to keep his eyeballs from simply rolling out of his head when Not-George came through the curtain in back. He quirked a small smile at the man before brushing off the receptionist and following him into the back. He had been coming to this establishment for a number of years now, and had gone through a few attendants before settling on him, his skill with his hands far surpassing any of the others. As he was led into the changing room and handed a plush terry-cloth robe, he found himself recalling their first encounter.  
   
The masseur had just worked out a terrible knot in the small of his back, and Mycroft had groaned rather embarrassingly. In an attempt to hide his mortification, he had asked the man's name.  
   
"George, sir."

"Well, that won't do."  
   
The hands that had been inching up his spine faltered. "Sir?"  
   
"George is my driver. You can't be George as well."  
   
"Um." Mycroft tilted his head and looked up. "Well, that _is_ my name. Sir." The blond man frowned down at him. "I know you probably own half of London or something, but you can't just change my name simply to suit your whims." He sniffed haughtily. "I quite like it."  
   
Mycroft found himself smiling at the man's weak attempt at impudence, feeling absolutely indulgent as his wondrous hands had already worked him into a near-puddle on the table. "St. George and the Dragon..."  
   
"Mm." The man bent once more to his task, earning another unbecoming moan. "You could call me Jorge. That's close enough."  
   
Mycroft snorted and twisted his torso to look the man full in the face. He was tall, pale of skin, his hair an almost unbelievable shade of white-blond, a nice rosy blush spreading over his cheeks from Mycroft's scrutiny. He snorted again. "No, I really could not. You couldn't be any less of a Jorge if you were born in Switzerland, for God's sake." He smiled again as the masseur bit his lip against a small giggle. "Would Not-George do?"  
   
The newly christened Not-George's cheeks dimpled adorably as he burst into laughter, attempting and failing to hide his wide smile with the back of one oiled hand. "I must say, sir, that it's quite nice to at last have someone with a sense of humour on my table."  
   
"Well, Not-George, I must say that if you hadn't already worked out that dreadful kink in my back, I may not have been in such a light-hearted frame of mind. So it seems to me that perhaps we will find our continuing association to be to both of our benefits."  
   
Not-George had looked down at him with a twinkle in his eye, and Mycroft had congratulated himself on bringing a little joy to the man's day. "Indeed, sir." With that, Not-George had resumed turning the British Government into little more than a loose bundle of limbs and wayward ginger curls before deftly flipping him over and reducing something else to a rather impressive puddle on Mycroft's belly.  
   
"A special service reserved for our most distinguished clients, of course." Not-George had remarked with a wicked gleam in his eye as he had wiped said client down with a lavender-scented towel. Mycroft may or may not have made a most undistinguished noise at that point, but he had not objected, as that little flourish had indeed whisked away the remaining vestiges of his almost unbearable tension.  
   
And with that, an easy association had been established. Mycroft did not come to the spa all that often, perhaps only once a month or so, and each time he felt a little more at ease with Not-George, and found himself discussing matters of a personal nature with him. It was foolish and perhaps even stupid to trust the man, but there was something so open and guileless about him that he almost couldn't resist.

Once he had started seeing Josef, however, things had changed. Not-George had not shaken his head sympathetically, nor outwardly judged him when he saw the bruises. In fact, he had said nothing at all, steeling his normally open face into a neutral mask, effectively distancing himself from Mycroft in a rather cold manner. Mycroft had recognised his behaviour for what it was; self-defence. Not-George was protecting his own interests, sealing off any affection that had developed during their previous encounters so that he couldn't be hurt in return.

After all, they had become friends after a certain fashion, and Not-George clearly could not handle seeing his friends in pain. Mycroft could not blame him for this, as it was the same strategy that he had employed toward Sherlock. Not that it was a very effective strategy, for either of them, really; for it didn't take long for the cold demeanour to break down as Mycroft continued to patronise the establishment, as he continued to ask for Not-George with a tiny twitch of his lips.

After all, the man truly was a miracle-worker with those hands of his, and he knew Mycroft's body in a way that would have sent Josef into a blind rage had he seen it. But Mycroft kept these visits strictly to himself, having come to rely rather heavily on Not-George to keep the tension out of his muscles, to help keep his mind free from pain. Of course, there was no offer of any 'special service' any longer, and Mycroft did not enquire after it. That - well, Josef may well have smelled _that_ on him, and that would have led to very not-good things.

So they had continued to see each other, Not-George soothing out the aches lingering underneath pale purple-green-yellowed skin, laying hands on twisted joints and coaxing them back into their natural resting place. He would occasionally make pointed remarks, but again without any harsh judgement - simply stating facts.

Gently rotating his arm, one hand firmly holding his shoulder in place. "Nearly dislocated it this time. You should be careful with it." Running his hands along his spine, hesitating oh-so-briefly as Mycroft sucked in a sharp breath. "I think that rib might be cracked, you'll want to see to that." Disappearing into a back room and coming back with an ice pack for a swollen knee. "Sprained. You need to keep that elevated."

There was perhaps nothing in this world that could send Mycroft into a full-fledged Holmesian strop faster than someone telling him _'you should'_ , _'you want to'_ , _'you need to'_ ; as if he were four years old and Nanny was still ordering him about, for Christ's sake. But Not-George's quietly muttered words did not provoke that in him, for Mycroft was able to see the advice as it was intended, as words spoken from a caring place. Although what he had done to inspire such care was beyond baffling to him. He was nothing - he was useless. Why care that a client's boyfriend was using him as his personal punching bag? What did it matter?

In the end, Mycroft had determined that was why he kept returning to the spa. He understood that Not-George cared, he just couldn't understand _why_. And being a Holmes, he naturally wanted, no - needed - to understand. There was only one time that he had turned away, shortly after the finger-breaking incident. The attendant had slipped through the curtain, taken one look at Mycroft's black eye before his gaze was drawn immediately to the splint on his right hand. Not-George's normally cheery face had dropped before going a startling shade of green and he had simply bolted, only making it as far as the hallway before there was the stomach-flipping sound of retching.

Mycroft had waved aside the offer of another masseur, making it perfectly clear that no disciplinary action was to be taken against their employee for something that was clearly out of his control. Obviously, it was a bout of food poisoning or some such. No, he would simply come back at another time.

And he had, of course. When it was finally over, when Josef had inevitably stepped clear over one of Mycroft's big, fat, red lines, had trampled on it much like he had stomped on his hand, smiling viciously at the sound of his lover's fingers snapping under his heel. Not-George had looked him over with a small gleam of dread, of actual _fear_ in his eyes, and Mycroft had leant in to whisper, "I left him," and oh, the sense of relief that had washed over the man had nearly sent Mycroft skidding from the contact high alone.

Not-George had whisked him away to one of the massage therapy rooms without delay, and they had spent nearly the whole afternoon together. The masseur had calmly and gently felt his way around every one of Mycroft's muscles, fingers probing insistently while working out the knots. With a little quirk of his head, Mycroft realised that the man was checking for injuries, for any potential lasting damage.  
   
It wasn't until Not-George had worked his way lower on his back, and drawn away the towel that was covering Mycroft's backside, that the full picture suddenly clicked in his head. Mycroft had forgotten about the hand-shaped bruises that had been lingering on his hips, of course. There was a quiet choking sound from above and behind, and he turned to the side as Not-George braced his arms on the table and dropped his head between them, taking slow, steadying breaths.  
   
" _Sir_. Did - did he... Oh my God."  
   
Mycroft reached out and clasped his forearm gently. "He is over and done, Not-George. I am fine. Please spare no more thoughts on what is in the past." Not-George shook his head slightly, still fighting to breathe evenly. " _Oh_. Oh, what a fool I've been. For me to keep coming here, to force you to see this. I'm dreadfully sorry." Mycroft squeezed his arm a little harder. "Someone close to you?"  
   
"My sister. She's been gone for nearly a decade, and I try not to dwell on it, but then you - you come in here like _that_ and..."  
   
"Oh, my dear man. I've been horribly cruel."  
   
"You didn't know."  
   
Mycroft seethed at himself inwardly. "I did know. Of course I did. Your reactions - I just didn't allow myself to _see_. Because I needed you. I've been intolerably selfish. Oh God, I'm just as bad as - "  
   
"Stop." Not-George glared down on him with a somewhat terrifying expression. "Don't you dare. Not even once will you dare to even think about comparing yourself to - that." Mycroft blinked up at him and nodded quietly. "Just - just lie back down and tell me if anything hurts, okay?"  
   
Mycroft had done as he was bade, only hissing out a short warning as Not-George's strong fingers lined up with Josef's hand prints. The masseur soothed him, reassuring him that he was just making sure that the blood was flowing freely, ensuring that the marks would fade more quickly. After that, he had turned Mycroft over and enquired with only a pointed look, a raised eyebrow, and Mycroft had quickly assented with a short nod and a, "Yes, please."  
   
With the 'special service' having had been performed, a surprising amount of tension had seemed to leach out of the masseur's manner. Mycroft pondered briefly, but of course - if he had still been entertaining thoughts of going back to Josef, he wouldn't have allowed Not-George to touch him like that. The man had clearly taken the consent to the act to be proof-positive that Mycroft was indeed free. After one of the most satisfying orgasms he'd had in the past four years, Mycroft sat up slowly and eyed Not-George's back as he stood at the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. When the masseur turned around, it was to find the British Government on his knees before him.  
   
"I'd like to reciprocate."  
   
After Not-George had recovered from his shock, he swiftly shook his head and manhandled Mycroft onto his feet and then back onto the table. "No."  
   
"You've done so much for me - you... You - care - for me after your own manner and I'd like to show you some gratitude for that."  
   
Not-George grinned. "Not that the thought isn't appreciated, but - well. I'm not gay." He held up his hands with a little smirk. "Not exactly straight, either; obviously, but that's just something I do, it's not something I'm really into." Mycroft recoiled slightly, and Not-George hastened to explain. "No, no - I'm not disgusted by it or anything, I haven't been coerced. I swear. I like making people feel good, and that's just one of the ways to make it happen. I actually like doing it, it just doesn't turn me on." He put one hand on his hip and dragged the other through his hair. "God, am I making any sense here?"  
   
Mycroft smirked back at him. "Yes, you are. And I understand you completely. It's just that you wouldn't be the first 'not gay but not exactly straight' man that I've had in my mouth, and I would be able to guarantee a genuinely spectacular experience."  
   
"You're awfully sure of that."  
   
"I know where my strengths lie, Not-George."   
   
Not-George snorted. "It's quite ridiculous that you continue to call me that, you know."  
   
Mycroft quirked a small smile at him. "But that is your name."  
   
He rolled his eyes. "Look, sir." Not-George paused. "Mycroft. You can show me your gratitude by never coming in here like that again. And I will do my part to make sure that all your bits and bobs are in perfect working order when you find someone who is actually worthy for you to bestow your affections upon." He gaped slightly as Mycroft blushed. "Oh! Oh, but you already... But, no..."  
   
"It's, ah - complicated."  
   
"Isn't it always?" Not-George reached out to touch Mycroft's shoulder lightly. "But that's okay, right? It's not like having a little time to yourself would be a bad thing."  
   
Mycroft dropped his eyes to his hands, clenched tight around his bare thighs. "No. You're quite correct about that."  
   
And with that, their relationship, such as it was, had been restored. Mycroft started to come in a little more often, and Not-George continued to gently and quietly ease the tension from his body and his mind. Things weren't quite as easy as they had been before Josef, but Mycroft still found himself trusting the man implicitly.

Snapping back into the present, Mycroft realised that he actually hadn't come to him in some time; since taking up with Gregory, in fact. He bit his lip as he wrapped the robe around his body and contemplated. He hoped that Not-George had not taken it as a sign that he had fallen back into bad habits. When he came out to the therapy room, he found that his fears were somewhat founded, as Not-George's shoulders were tight and his face set into a vaguely pleasant but clearly professional mask.  
   
But when Not-George turned his eyes on him, looking him up and down with a slight furrow in between his brows, he slumped slightly in relief. "Oh, thank God. You didn't - he hasn't - " Mycroft grinned crookedly and Not-George actually chuckled. "You haven't been to see me because you've been occupied, haven't you sir?"

 _"Erm."_ Mycroft felt his face flush and he glanced down at his bare feet. "I only just realised what my absence may have meant to you. I did not mean to make you worry." He looked back up into Not-George's face. "If you did - worry, that is."  
   
"I did. But unnecessarily, it seems. You look good, sir. Really good. Love suits you." Mycroft gaped, and Not-George indicated that he should disrobe and lay down. "Put on a bit of weight - no, not a lot, try not to look quite so horrified. Your cheeks were gaunt, now they're rosy. Your eyes are clearer too, and your posture - well, you've always had perfect posture, but it obviously pained you before. Now, I think..." He laid a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and ran it halfway down his back. "As I thought. Hardly any tension at all. You don't really need me, do you? Been getting lots of exercise lately?"

Mycroft snorted out a sharp burst of giggles. "You could say that, yes. For a man in his mid-forties, Gregory is rather - well - active."

"Good for him. And for you, obviously. So why are you here?"

Mycroft shrugged idly. "I'm seeing him this evening, and I had a little free time. Why not pamper myself with a relaxing massage and maybe a masque?"

"Ohh, I see. A _masque_. Want your skin to glow, do you? Celebrating something special, then... Want to make yourself all pretty for your man."

"Not-George, for a 'not gay but not really straight' man, you can be remarkably catty in your tone."

"Sooo... Yes."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "Yes."

He quirked a highly-sceptical brow as Not-George did a little hop-skip in place and clapped his hands like a small child. "You'll be wanting your nails done too." Mycroft frowned as he held his hands up in front of his face before nodding reluctantly. "Need anything waxed?"

Mycroft shuddered. "Good Lord, no! Gregory would have a fit if I came to him looking like a blasted shopfront dummy."

Not-George shrugged before striding toward the door. "Might give him a chance to truly take count of all of those marvellous freckles... I'll just set up your other services. Won't be a tick."  
   
When he returned, it was to the sight of Mycroft turning his arms this way and that, perusing his skin sceptically. "Do you really think they're marvellous? I think they're dreadful."  
   
Not-George started to lay out his various unguents and oils. "And what does your Gregory think, hm?" He laughed as Mycroft turned beetroot-red and bent down to chuck him on the chin gently. "There you go. Marvellous." He tilted his head slightly. "I don't suppose you have any photos that you could share?"  
   
Mycroft bit his lip and debated, but not for long. He obviously wasn't a chatty man; he quite definitely relished his infinite secrets and was remarkably good at keeping things close to his chest. But this - this he didn't want to keep secret. He longed to be able to shout his love from the rooftops of London, as ridiculous as that all was. He reached for his phone even as he cringed slightly. God, he actually wanted to gossip! What the hell had happened to him?  
   
Not-George's eyes absolutely sparkled as Mycroft fiddled with his phone briefly and then passed it over. "Oh. Oh, _sir_." Mycroft blushed again. It was one of his favourite photos, one that he had snapped shortly after Gregory had woken up next to him for the second time. He was smiling at him, that lovely easy grin, eyes soft around the edges but still so dark, his silver hair ruffled adorably on the pillow. "Well, my goodness. He's beautiful, sir." He tilted his head slightly. "He's the one you were waiting for, isn't he?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded. "It's still complicated, but - well."

Not-George smiled at him softly before swiping his thumb across the small screen. A sudden and vibrant flush bloomed on his cheeks. _"Jesus."_  
   
_"Guh."_ Mycroft squirmed and made a grab for his mobile, suddenly remembering the other set of photos that had been saved in that particular folder. Not-George giggled and held the phone just out of his reach, making Mycroft scramble to his knees on the table. He reached out and grabbed hold of the ridiculous polo shirt and hauled him in close. "Do not make me hurt you, Not-George."  
   
The masseur giggled again and passed over the phone with a small sigh. "Active, indeed..." He stole another glance at the photo, showing Gregory quite clearly posing for the unseen photographer, in all of his naked and fully erect glory. "You're a lucky, lucky man, Mr. Holmes." Mycroft clutched the phone to his chest and glared as he settled back down on the table. After a surreptitious glance at the next photo he heaved a huge sigh of relief that Not-George had not decided to keep flipping. For the next photo was the one that Gregory had snapped himself, a rather saucy shot of Mycroft's tongue lapping at the head of his cock. Mycroft shivered delicately, then jumped as Not-George poked at the somewhat faded bruise on his left buttock.  
   
"What the -" He glanced back and paled slightly. "Oh, that's just..." His explanation died in his throat as he caught the devilish glint in Not-George's eye.  
   
"I know a love bite when I see it, sir. Your Gregory isn't a violent man - that's easy enough to see from the photos." He grinned, finger poised over the spot, making his client squirm uneasily. "Possessive, though. In all the right ways, I imagine." Not-George sighed melodramatically. "I suppose that means no 'special service' today..."  
   
Mycroft blushed furiously. "No offence meant to you, my dear man, as every occasion was indeed delightful, but hopefully I'll never need your 'special service' ever again."  
   
Not-George smiled widely as he oiled his hands. "You know, I hope so too." With that, he began to work Mycroft over methodically, his touch lighter than usual due to his client's highly-unusual lack of tension. He poked at the bruise again just to make Mycroft jump before flipping him over and perfunctorily rubbing at his arms and chest. Not-George quirked an eyebrow as the glint of metal caught his eye, and he cleared his throat. "Quite possessive."  
   
Mycroft's eyes open lazily and he sighed. "What was that?" He glanced down and blushed again. "Oh. Oh Christ. I didn't even think - How abominably rude of me. And it's not what you think, not really - although, well, yes, maybe it is. It was my choice, though, and he indulges me, you know. Far more than expected, but then none of this was expected, really. And I just - "  
   
"Shh. No judgements, sir. None at all. We'll just make sure to get your pants on you before the girls descend with all of their potions. Otherwise I'd never hear the end of the giggling, for God's sake."  
   
"I'm beginning to think you like the giggling, Not-George. You've been remarkably giddy today."  
   
Not-George paused in his inspection of Mycroft's shins. "I think that you've been on my mind lately, sir. Not entirely consciously, but to find that my concerns were unfounded - well, let's just say that I'm relieved. And yes, I feel lighter because of it. It's not just seeing you like this - happy, you know." He squeezed Mycroft's ankles gently. "You freely told me his name - you freely showed me a picture. You want to talk about him, to share. That's how I know this is real, that's he's the one for you. The other one - you never spoke of him, not really. I never knew his name." He held up a hand as Mycroft opened his mouth. "No, I don't want to know. Like you said before, over and gone, right?"  
   
Mycroft grinned crookedly. "Yes. Actually, Gregory made quite sure of that."  
   
"Oh, sir. I just - May I..." With a little tilt of his head, Mycroft nodded. Not-George tugged on his hand, pulling Mycroft into a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around him gently and squeezed, ignoring the light sheen of oil slathered over Mycroft's body. "I'm just so fucking happy for you." Mycroft patted him rather awkwardly on the back before resting his forehead on Not-George's shoulder briefly.  
   
"I, um... Thank you, Not-George. I'm afraid you've quite ruined your dreadful shirt, however."  
   
"Oh, what a shame." He pulled back with shining eyes and turned to rummage in a cupboard. "Wherever will I find another?" With a bright smile, he pulled out a duplicate and swiftly ducked into the changing room, coming out wearing the clean shirt and bearing Mycroft's pants. "Slip these on and then I'll let the horde enter. Are you going for the full-body masque? If so, we could just dip you in the mud bath." Mycroft's face twisted in horror, and Not-George burst into laughter. "Right, yeah. Not exactly the most hygienic, is it?" He rubbed Mycroft down to get the excess oil off as he slipped his pants back on. "Prepare to be invaded."  
   
"What have you done?"  
   
Not-George smirked. "Called in the full contingent. Figured you wanted to get out of here soonest so you can get back to your dear Gregory, so rather than having one girl to do the masque and another to do your nails, I gathered up as many as I could find. The spa's been quiet today, so everybody's been sitting idle." He opened the door and whistled out into the hallway, and a veritable troop of smiling women in identical pink polo shirts entered. Mycroft could feel his eyes widening in panic, but he took a deep breath and laid back as Not-George directed him.  
   
He almost felt as if he were being pushed and pulled in opposite directions, as one woman each took hold of his hands and feet and head, their touches almost too gentle, too feathery against his skin. He shuddered slightly and opened his eyes to find Not-George looking down on him with unmistakable affection. Centring himself on that gaze, Mycroft took in another deep breath and laid back, closing his eyes, letting himself be pampered.  
   
"Good, sir. That's very good. Just a buff on the nails, then?"  
   
"Yes, of course." Mycroft bit his lip. "Except - my toes. Could you..." He heard a slight snicker, but ignored it. "Red, please."  
   
Not-George's voice was suddenly there, right in his ear, quiet and breathy. "Ooh, you daring man. Just what are you planning?"  
   
Mycroft's ears burned, but he turned his head slightly and whispered in return. "Red Riding Hood."  
   
There was a sharp gasp, and Mycroft resolutely kept his eyes shut tight. "You filthy little perv. No wonder he loves you."  
   
A sudden burst of warmth bloomed in Mycroft's chest and he shivered. Granted, Gregory often told him just how he felt, but even now, it was still difficult for Mycroft to believe him. Not-George had only seen those two photos, but if he could see it - just from that, actually see the love in Gregory's eyes, well, then it must be true. There was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder and a quiet squawk of indignation from the woman who had just slathered that same shoulder with clay and Mycroft found himself giggling rather embarrassingly.  
   
The rest of it was rather a blur, as Mycroft swiftly descended into some kind of trance, overloaded on the sensation of people foreign to him touching him all over. He came out of it to Not-George patting him rather insistently on the cheek and calling his name. He sat bolt upright, nearly beaning the man with his own forehead.  
   
"Sir! Whoa there - it's okay, you're back now, yeah? Went a little la-la land on me."  
   
Mycroft eyed Not-George suspiciously for a moment, but swiftly checking over his own limbs, he relaxed. He shook his head, positively infuriated with himself. This was why he needed to maintain control - Jesus. These people could have done anything to him, anything at all. Stupid, stupid man. Mycroft caught a flash of bright red at the end of his legs and stretched them out briefly, wiggling his toes. _Well_. He tilted his head as Not-George giggled.  
   
"I think they're quite fetching, and I'm sure your Gregory will too." He handed a bundle of clothing to Mycroft and nodded at a suit carrier hanging on the door. "Thought you might not want to ruin your lovely suit with the remainders of the clay clinging to you there. There is a communal shower, of course..." Mycroft shuddered. "Yeah - thought so."  
   
Mycroft shook out the loose cotton pullover and navy linen trousers. He tilted his head. "You have many yacht owners frequenting this establishment? It's only missing the dreadful fake captain's hat."  
   
Not-George snorted. "Just put them on and get your butt home so you can clean up. He's expecting you, you know." Mycroft scowled mightily. "You said! You said earlier that you'd be seeing him this evening. Right?" Not-George backed away slightly as Mycroft narrowed his eyes, his knuckles going white over the fabric that was clutched in his hands. "Shit. Didn't you say?" Mycroft slipped off the table, stalking toward the hapless masseur. "Okay, okay! Jesus Christ you can be scary. Anthea said - she phoned and told me to get your arse moving, okay? Jesus!"  
   
"That double-damned witch. How can a man expect to have any secrets?"  
   
Not-George blinked at him. "I find that it's easier to just not bother." Mycroft rolled his eyes and fumbled with his phone briefly, texting a message to Actual-George before climbing into the clothing that he had been gifted with. Not-George tilted his head and quirked a small smile at him. "It suits you, sir."  
   
Mycroft plucked at the loose white cotton uneasily. "I feel - naked." He scowled again at Not-George's quiet scoff and bent to tie his shoes. There was a knock at the door, and Actual-George came in and handed over an envelope to Mycroft without comment. Mycroft nodded at him. "George, meet Not-George." The men sized each other up silently and shook hands. Mycroft handed the envelope to Not-George as Actual-George gathered up the suit carrier. "Please hand these out to the appropriate personnel, and keep the remaining for yourself. It was extraordinarily pleasant to see you again."  
   
Not-George smiled faintly and folded the envelope before stuffing it into his pocket. He knew what was in it, and it would be rather gauche to count it all out in front of the client. "Yes, it was, sir. And now that my mind has been eased, well, it would be lovely to see you again, but it would be even lovelier if I didn't have to, if you know what I mean."  
   
Mycroft smiled gently. "I do. Thank you."  
   
"Not that I wouldn't mind another peek at those photos of yours..."  
   
"Oh, for - " Mycroft's mouth snapped shut and he strode out the door, face flaming red. Actual-George winked at Not-George as he followed his employer out of the door and then out of the establishment entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes himself presentable...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super-short, still leading up to Red Riding Hood. I'm terribly sorry, but this week has been kind of hellish, and I've had all sorts of ideas popping up that I just had to follow. The muse is skipping ahead a bit and I'm having a hell of a time reining her in. Damn wild woman...
> 
> Anyhoo, hope this suffices, and I'm planning on having a quiet weekend, so maybe I'll actually get to the good bit this next time!
> 
> Love you all - please comment, keep me going!

George whisked them to the townhouse without delay, where Mycroft dismissed him. He'd be driving himself to Baker Street, thank you very much. George nodded without comment and looked pointedly at his watch, making Mycroft scowl at him fiercely. Damn the lot of them - was he the boss, or wasn't he? Although the gesture did seem to set off some kind of subliminal signal within his mind, as he glanced down at his own watch in return. His heart tripped slightly when he took note of the time - quarter past four. At this rate, what with needing a shower, getting re-dressed properly, and gathering all of his things together, he'd get to Baker Street closer to night-time than evening, and that most definitely would not go over well.  
   
Mycroft hurried up the stairs to his room and tossed the suit carrier on the bed as he went straight for the en suite. He started the shower and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror before undressing. All right, so Not-George may have something there. The outfit still reminded Mycroft of those absolutely boorish individuals who took entirely too much care to look 'casual' and 'carefree' as they flaunted their money and influence about, but the trousers actually fit him quite nicely, and he always had liked linen. He sighed slightly as he tilted his head. Too bad it always wrinkled so horribly. He turned sideways to peruse his profile. All right, so he would keep the trousers at least.

He casually cleaned his teeth as the shower was heating, and frowned a bit as he scrutinised his eyebrows. They seemed a bit - lighter than usual. Just what had those damn women done to him, anyway? It wasn't until he took out his dental floss that he started to realise that he was dawdling. Mycroft frowned at himself in the mirror. Why was he dawdling? Just at that moment, his mobile buzzed, and he picked it up without thinking, although the screen was already a bit fogged up from the moist hot air that the shower was producing.  
   
It was a text from John. _'MYCROFT - ETA'_  
   
Shit. It was never a good sign when John was texting in all caps. For some baffling reason, text-shouty John was always more troubling to Mycroft than actual-shouty John.  
   
 _'An hour? - M'_  
  
 _'I DO NOT LIKE THAT '?', MYCROFT. MAKE IT AN HOUR OR I'LL TAN YOUR HIDE WHEN YOU GET HERE.'_  
   
Well, double shit.  
   
 _'Understood, Captain.'_  
   
Mycroft quickly stripped out of his pants and dove into the shower, taking time with the soap in all the important places, but not bothering to wash his hair. He set about himself at a brisk pace, until his eyes were once more caught by the bright flash at the end of his feet. He wiggled his long toes under the spray, shaking his head. No, what on earth was he thinking? Not that he had anything about that would remove the nail lacquer - perhaps the housekeeper? Ah, but she was out today. But he couldn't keep it, could he? Really, it was too fanciful, Gregory would be... Well, no - he would not be appalled. He would be absolutely thrilled that Mycroft had done something so silly, just for him. Mycroft giggled to himself happily for a moment before suddenly realising that he was wasting time yet again.

What the hell was wrong with him? It must be nerves, of course. That was why. Mycroft was a master procrastinator when it came to completing tasks that he was unsure of. If he had a set plan, and could follow it through without any unanticipated troubles popping up, then he would dive right in without delay. But why was he nervous? It was just Gregory, for God's sake, and although his lover would often deviate from whatever vague blueprints Mycroft had in his head, he didn't think that either of them had ever been disappointed with any of the results. It wasn't like they hadn't ever played games before... Perhaps not with quite as much costuming, but still.

No, it must be the idea of the bonding itself that was making him gun-shy. He'd never - not bare. The very thought that Gregory would be spreading himself inside him, thoroughly marking him internally as well as he had externally... It was a glorious, heady thought that made Mycroft feel a bit weak in the knees.

It was almost like... Like wedding-night jitters. It was ridiculous, for even if Gregory wanted to make that commitment to him, he couldn't - not with both John and Sherlock holding prior claims on him. But this was still a commitment of sorts, a definite bonding on an extremely visceral level, an act that Mycroft very much wanted to participate in. He shook his head slightly before turning off the spray and towelling himself off vigorously. He stared at his reflection in the foggy mirror for a moment before Gregory's voice echoed in his head, almost as if he were projecting psychically, which was an utterly absurd idea that nevertheless made Mycroft shiver with delight.

_'Stop fucking around, pet.'_

Ah, so straightforward. Mycroft smirked to himself as he strode out into his bedroom and swiftly pulled on pants and a vest before taking his newest suit out of the wardrobe. He eyed it critically while buttoning up a sky-blue dress shirt. It was a more modern cut than the suits he usually favoured, close-cut and slim-fitting. And not that he was a stranger to colour or pattern, but this particular shade of blue, a deep cobalt, almost royal in its hue, was just a touch too bold for Mycroft's comfort. But then, he didn't exactly buy it for himself, did he?

He pulled on the trousers and tucked in the shirt before zipping up the fly and pausing to study his profile in the wardrobe mirror. Mycroft turned slightly and smirked at his backside. Close-fitting, indeed. Oh, yes - Gregory would definitely appreciate the view, especially with... He slipped on the waistcoat, which was the same colour of the suit, albeit with a subtle check pattern. He checked his backside again, positively grinning as the clean lines of the waistcoat accented his trim waist and drew the line of sight directly where he wanted it, to his bum. It may not be as generous as his little brother's impossibly lush arse, but Mycroft prided himself that it was one of his best attributes, being very perky and rather firm, and the cut of these trousers certainly showed it to advantage.

His tailor was a genius, and Mycroft was already debating on whether he should order one or at least two more as he rifled through his overnight bag, making sure that he'd have everything he needed. Except for the - well - props and additional accessories, which went into a smaller bag. Then he glanced through his ties briefly before shaking his head and simply undoing the top button of his shirt. He didn't know why, but for some reason, Gregory always seemed inordinately pleased when Mycroft came to him just a tiny bit undone.

After slipping on the suit jacket, and dropping his mobile into his pocket, Mycroft whirled around briefly to make sure nothing had been left behind. He grabbed his bags and made a quick detour through the kitchen before going out to the garage and dropping the bags into the boot of his car. As he settled into the driver's seat, he checked the time. Ten after five, not doing too badly after all. He decided to send a quick text to John, in hopes of avoiding a physical confrontation when he arrived. Not that he would really mind... But, no. That option wasn't really open to them yet, although it was soon to come. Mycroft wiped the silly grin off his face as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

_'Leaving mine now. 15 minutes.'_

_'BETTER BE.'_

Mycroft gulped and put the car in gear.

At Baker Street, John sighed as he put his phone down and turned to the man that was absolutely glowering at his side. "Fifteen minutes, according to My."

Greg scowled even more fiercely. "And just why is he texting _you_ , anyway?"

"Because I sent him a message earlier to say that I would beat his arse if he didn't get it over here pronto." John shook out the paper, but cast his lover a sideways glance as he made a frustrated but clearly interested noise. He could see Greg's cock twitch under his loose cotton pyjama bottoms, even though his snug-fitting boxer briefs were doing what they could to tamp it down. John sighed again. "Seriously, love. Why don't you just let me take care of that for you? Poor fellow's been up and down and up again so many times in the past two and a half days that I'm surprised you haven't sprained something."

"You know why, John."

"Saving it for your pet, yes. But you know how ridiculous that is - it's not like you won't be able to get it up again the moment he walks in that door. You have phenomenal stamina, my love."

Greg growled quietly and grabbed at the material over his thighs, clenching it in his fists. "No. I've waited this long, I can wait just a bit longer."

"God, you're going to make such a mess." Greg grinned even as he whimpered slightly. John eyed him up and down. "And you still won't tell me what you two are going to be up to tonight?"

Greg's grin sharpened as he shook his head. "Maybe later, after it's over. Right now, it all feels a little bit silly, and I'm not even sure I'm going to be able to follow it through."

"Role-play, then." Greg nodded. "Something to do with that little box I saw Sherlock slipping to you the other night? I know that ring order is still a couple of weeks away..."

Greg blinked rapidly. "Oh, shit, I have to - _um_." John tilted his head and quietly accepted the kiss that Greg pressed onto his temple before he bolted for the attic stairs. Then he shook his paper out again and hummed into the brief moment of peace and quiet in the sitting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft finally arrives...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting carried away again... Since this was already at 4k, I decided to break it up a bit. Hopefully I'll have more before the end of the week...
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies - please keep me going with your wonderful comments!

Ten minutes. All John was hoping for was a solid ten minutes of quiet, so he could sit, scan through the paper, get caught up in some stupid sensational story and just breathe. He sent up a brief prayer, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. _J_ _ust ten minutes, m'lad. Give me ten minutes, and perhaps I'll actually believe._ But of course, that wasn't how it worked, was it?

For after about eight minutes of that blissful silence, John's ears picked up the tell-tale click of the key in the outer door and then the hushed sound of stockinged feet making their way up the stairs. He shook his head slightly as the tread hesitated at the half-open door to the sitting room and then bloody well attempted to tip-toe past.

"Mycroft Holmes, you get in here."

The sheepish face that peeked around the door almost made John burst into giggles, but he steeled his expression and frowned instead. He nodded toward the shoes that were clutched rather awkwardly in one hand along with two bags.

"Did you honestly think you were gonna be able to sneak by me?"

Mycroft sniffed haughtily. "That was not my intention at all. I simply did not wish to disturb you."

"Right. And what's the meaning of coming so late?"

"It's not even half-past!"

John stood and levelled a finger at him. "Don't you mouth back at _me_ , mister. You said evening, and it's nearly dark."

Mycroft twitched uneasily, glancing back at the attic stairs. "I simply lost track of time. I am sorry, John."

John felt his glare softening as he looked the fidgeting red-haired man over carefully. "Nervous, eh?" Mycroft blinked at him and blushed adorably. "That's all right, sweetheart. You'll do just fine." He heaved out a monumental sigh. "I would like to warn you, however. Our dear Gregory is a bit - wound up - at the moment. It isn't going to take much to set him off. It has been nearly sixty hours, you know."

The rosy blush swiftly drained from Mycroft's face, leaving his cheeks looking rather sallow. "Sixty hours since he - ?" John nodded solemnly. "But John, surely you..."

John's glare was suddenly back in full force. "He wouldn't _let_ me, My." He hissed out the words, taking more than a small amount in pleasure in the way the taller man shrank away from him. "He's been an absolute terror - Sherlock's been in hiding for two days straight. Damn near done himself an injury, but he wouldn't let me touch him. Said he was saving it for his pet. He's never rejected me, Mycroft. Not once."

Mycroft stared at him in horror, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Oh, John... I didn't - I never meant..."

John sniffled quietly, slightly bewildered to realise that he was on the verge of tears. "I know you didn't ask it of him. It's not your fault, sweetheart. I'm sorry for getting angry with you. I just..."

Mycroft set his bags down carefully and turned to him, holding out his arms slightly. "May I? Only if you - "

John came to him gratefully, winding his arms around Mycroft's waist as he rested his cheek on his chest. He sighed as the taller man gave him a little squeeze and a pat on the back. "Thank you, My."

Mycroft hummed. "I'll make sure he makes it up to you, John. And if he doesn't, then I will. Next week." They both shivered in anticipation.

John leant back slightly and grinned wickedly as he let one hand drift down to caress Mycroft's arse. "New suit, isn't it?" He gave him a solid pinch and winked as Mycroft jumped slightly. "Nice." Mycroft's blush returned, unsure if John was talking about the suit, or his bum. Not that it mattered, really. It was praise either way, and Mycroft simply lived for it. John nodded decisively and released him. "Go on, then. Try not to let your lovely new togs get splattered..."

Mycroft was already bending to retrieve his bags and nearly choked on the explosive set of giggles that burst out of him upon hearing John's words. The little doctor winked again as he turned back toward the sofa and his paper. Mycroft grinned and then straightened out his shoulders, turning toward the attic stairs resolutely.

He opened the door cautiously, looking into an empty room and breathing out a nearly silent sigh of relief as he heard the faint sound of running water from the direction of the small toilet. Mycroft quickly deposited the smaller of his bags on the bed and the overnight bag on the desk chair before slipping his jacket off. He stood in front of the open wardrobe after hanging it up, taking a few seconds to roll up his shirt cuffs and just breathe.

In the next moment, there were firm, hot hands clamped onto his backside, and Mycroft gasped as he stumbled, reaching out to support himself against the wardrobe. Just the fact that Gregory had been able to creep up on him, on Mycroft Holmes, the British Government personified, thrilled him so deeply that he felt his bones quiver with it. The hands squeezed hard, and Mycroft pushed into Gregory's grip as he chanced a look over his shoulder.

His knees wobbled dangerously as he saw that his lover was crouched behind him, his lovely dark eyes fixed firmly on his posterior as he fondled it. Mycroft moaned and staggered again as Gregory leant in, running his nose along the seam of his trousers, mouthing at the fabric and huffing out short, hot bursts of breath that could plainly be felt through his layers of clothing.

Gregory chuckled low as he stood slowly, shifting his grip to Mycroft's hips. He pulled his body to him roughly, growling quietly as he buried his nose in the nape of his neck. "Nice suit, pet." He rolled his hips into Mycroft's backside, grinding his erection against him hard. Gregory let out a shuddering sigh as Mycroft moaned again, writhing back against him. "Oh, yes." He reached up and clasped his lover under the chin, tilting his head back so he could nose behind his ear. He inhaled deeply, and his body suddenly stiffened. Mycroft stilled as both of Gregory's hands came up to grasp at his head, pulling it back even further, threatening to pull him off balance.

"Gregory - what..."

There was another hot blast of air, this time against his scalp. Mycroft trembled as Gregory snarled. "You don't smell right, pet." Mycroft nearly tripped over his own feet as he was whirled around and pressed up against the nearest wall. He watched with wide eyes as Gregory leant in to sniff at him again, his eyes dark and wild. "Just where the bloody hell have you been, anyway? I expected you hours ago, Mycroft. _Hours_. I've been waiting." He growled into the crook of Mycroft's neck. "You made me wait while you were out gallivanting about doing God only knows what and you smell different, I don't _like_ it, so you're going to tell me what you were up to, pet, and if I don't like what I hear from you then you and I are going to have a very different night than the one we had planned. Talk."

"I - _guh_." Mycroft struggled to pull himself together as Gregory glowered at him, his hands wrapped firmly around his upper arms, holding him fast against the wall. "I - well... I was unusually tense and it was preoccupying my mind and I thought that perhaps in order to relax and therefore make myself a better companion for the evening that perhaps a - a massage was in order. So I went to - to the spa." Mycroft gulped and smiled weakly as Gregory's scowl deepened.

When he spoke, his voice was gruff and menacing. "You went to the spa. The fucking _spa_." His eyes narrowed in disbelief and Mycroft trembled as his grip tightened. Gregory breathed in deep and let it out slowly. "Where you stripped naked, and let another man put his hands on you."

" _Oh_. Oh, dear. Gregory, my love, you mustn't think... No, I've been going to them for years, and Not-George is a consummate professional, nothing untoward happened, not that it could, Gregory - you still hold my key, after all. It is true that I may not have considered my actions fully, but I think that perhaps I have been a little anxious, and that most likely compromised my usual thought processes. I do beg your forgiveness, but of course if you wish to punish me, you may. I was horribly remiss and I am terribly sorry."

Greg tilted his head slightly, seeming to consider what Mycroft had said, but of course only one thing stood out quite clearly. " _Not_ -George?"

Mycroft blinked at him serenely. "Well, yes."

"Because George is your driver."

"Precisely." Mycroft smiled at him brightly, pleased that he understood.

Greg felt his shoulders drop a bit as he shook his head. "Jesus, pet. How can I stay mad at you after you say something so stupidly adorable?"

"Erm. If you wish me to say something adequately stupid so you can maintain your anger, I could perhaps think of something. Of course, nearly every phrase that spills from my tongue is a veritable fountain of sparkling wit, so I may find it a trifle difficult..."

Greg snorted and leant in close as he released him, placing his hands flat on the wall on either side of Mycroft's head. "There you go again. Being all cute n'shit."

Mycroft smiled coyly and ran his fingers through Gregory's chest hair before wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him closer. He slipped a knee between his thighs and rubbed up against him. "Gregory... You must allow me to make it up to you."

Greg groaned throatily. "Careful there, pet. I'm on a bit of a hair trigger..."

"So John said." Mycroft hummed quietly. "And it was a lovely thought, my dear, but you really shouldn't have. John was affected by your rejection more than he let show. He's quite upset."

"I didn't reject him, not really... I just - "

"Quote, 'saving it for my pet', unquote. So not only did you tell him no, you told him that it was in my favour. It was rather unfair to the both of us, as he no doubt blames me a bit, however unconsciously."

Greg leaned into him and sighed into his neck. "Well, _shit_."

"Indeed. It seems that we are both capable of being rather thoughtless, my dear. I told him that you would make it up to him."

"Oh, did you now?"

"Or that I would make it up to him next week, yes."

Greg groaned. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus."

"Mm. Something that I am very much looking forward to, although not as much as tonight... And you haven't even given me a proper greeting yet."

There was a low chuckle against his skin and Mycroft shivered with delight. "Isn't that how wolves greet each other? By sniffing arses?"

Mycroft giggled. "You are a terrible man. Kiss me, Gregory. Please. And then perhaps you will allow me to relieve your tension so we can let the real fun begin."

Greg frowned slightly as he cupped Mycroft's jaw. "I was gonna fill you up, pet. Unload everything I had so deep inside you, God, wanted to sit back and watch my come oozing out of you... Fuck, yes. Make you mine, mark you all up inside and out." 

"Good Lord above." Mycroft's body shuddered violently as he clutched at his lover's waist. "Oh, my love. You will. All of that and more. Please, Gregory. Please." Mycroft trembled as Greg brought their mouths together, a sweet and sultry kiss swiftly turning into something utterly mindless and lust-crazed, teeth and tongues clashing and fighting together. Mycroft pulled away with a sharp gasp and a furrowed brow, reaching up to his lover's mouth.

Greg snorted briefly and then grinned, showing all of his teeth, including the new elongated set of canines, upper and lower, that he had put in just before his pet's arrival. "Thought I'd add to the costume a bit myself. Like them? I'll have to be a bit careful, don't want any more accidents, do we?" He fingered the mark on Mycroft's neck lightly.

Mycroft stared, wide-eyed. "Oh, Gregory." He leant in for another kiss, flickering his tongue over and around, nibbling on his lower lip as he withdrew. "They are _magnificent_." He delicately held Greg's lips open as he peered into his mouth. Greg snorted again, opening and closing and clenching his teeth together so the Holmes curiosity could be adequately assuaged. "They align perfectly - but where did you even - "

"Sherlock knows a guy."

"Of course he does. Bespoke fangs." Mycroft giggled quietly. "They will add quite the air of authenticity once we get you fully outfitted. They already seem to have gotten you into character a bit."

Greg looked up from where he'd been nuzzling into Mycroft's neck. "How so?"

"You've been extraordinarily, um - scent-oriented thus far this evening. And particularly growly, although some of that is most likely my fault, for being late. Just wolfish in general, I suppose. Once we get that tail on - err, in - you... _Mm_." Mycroft shivered. "After you fill my mouth with that lovely cock and come and come down my throat, of course." He started to slide down the wall, his eyes locked on Gregory's face.

Greg blew out a harsh breath. "Pet, don't you want to finish undressing? I'm pretty sure I'm gonna make a mess..."

"No, Gregory, you won't." Mycroft looked up at him from his knees. "Because I am going to swallow it _all_."

Greg groaned and broke eye contact, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling as he felt Mycroft's nimble fingers working his pyjamas and pants down. His pants were already a bit sticky, considering that he had been hard and leaking ever since seeing his pet's arse in those damn shiny blue trousers. He began to count backward from a hundred in his head, hoping that would help him to last more than ten seconds. Jesus, John was right, what the hell had he been thinking, trying to hold himself back? And just the thought that he had hurt him, albeit unknowingly, well, that just made Greg's stomach twinge uncomfortably.

Not that the ache lasted long as he was expertly worked over by a lovely hot mouth and nimble tongue; it was quickly replaced by that familiar warm, swirling sensation, although this time it was just a bit too hot, a bit too large to contain as the small eddies of pleasure turned into a swiftly running current, a whirlpool of mixed pleasure-pain, overloading his nerves and sending his brain skimming into the void. Greg was only able to mutter a quick garbled warning before he was coming, and he vaguely felt as the receptacle for his seed was opened wide, and he gratefully let it all flow into him, grunting quietly as Mycroft swallowed around him again and again.

Greg came back into himself to find that he was still somehow braced against the wall, his open legs bracketing Mycroft's knees. His pet had his hands on his hips, and was lapping at his softening cock like a kitten with a saucer of cream. He looked up at him coquettishly and smiled. "Not a drop spilt, Gregory."

"Damn. And I was too far gone to even appreciate it." He heaved out a breath as his head swam slightly. "Never doing that again." Greg stepped out of the clothing pooled around his feet and held out his hands, pulling Mycroft up and into his arms. "I don't know how you can stand it - weeks at a time."

Mycroft giggled quietly as he ran his hands through his hair. "I am in no way as virile as you are, my love. My need is never as great. And besides, I'm accustomed to it."

Greg hummed and pulled him in for a kiss, licking his way around Mycroft's lips and into his mouth, tasting himself on his pet's tongue. He rumbled low in his chest, a happy satisfied sound that made Mycroft tremble in his arms. It swiftly turned into another quiet growl as Greg groped at his fabric-clad arse.

"It is a lovely suit, pet. But it needs to come off. Now. I want to see that beautiful body, I need to feel your skin. Nownownow."

"Yes, my dear. Just - " Mycroft moved him backward a little, until Greg felt the edge of the bed hit the back of his thighs. He sank down as his pet pushed at him, and leant back on his hands to watch as he swiftly stripped down in front of him, hanging everything neatly in the wardrobe. He 'tsk'ed as he swiped Greg's discarded clothes off the floor and tossed them into the wardrobe as well, throwing his socks in afterwards.

Mycroft turned, scanning the room, making sure that everything was tucked away before closing the wardrobe securely. Greg tilted his head, his dark eyes fixed firmly on Mycroft's feet as a wide grin spread over his face. Mycroft suddenly blushed fiercely and attempted to hide his toes by curling them under his feet, balancing rather awkwardly on his heels.

Greg was having none of that, however, and pulled him into the bed with a quiet grunt. Mycroft settled against the headboard, resting one arm on top of the bag that he had yet to unpack as Greg turned to face him, sitting cross-legged near the foot of the bed. He quirked one eyebrow and held out his hands wordlessly. Mycroft sighed and reluctantly placed one elegant foot into Gregory's tender grip. He shivered with delight and bit his lip to keep from giggling as his lover ran his fingers over the top and then around the delicate ankle before tickling along the arch, finally coming to rest on his toes.

Mycroft blushed furiously again and fought the urge to simply tear his feet away from Gregory's sharp gaze. "I - I really don't know what I was thinking, my dear. It was little more than a flight of fancy and once I was home I thought about removing it, but then it's not like I keep nail lacquer remover in my bathroom cupboard, is it? It is silly, I know - oh, perhaps Sherlock has some acetone in his lab - in fact, I'm sure he does, I can just pop down there for a moment and be..."

Mycroft's babbling gave way to a breathless gasp as Gregory lifted his foot to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his big toe. He grinned, letting his tongue hang out between sharp wolf-teeth, flickering it over each toe gently before returning to the front of the line and biting down, ever-so-lightly. Mycroft gasped again, unconsciously squirming against the headboard and wriggling his toes in Gregory's grip.

Greg ducked his head slightly, looking up at him through his dark lashes. "You did this for me, pet?" Mycroft nodded silently, still pink-cheeked. "So while you were fucking around at the spa with another man, you were at least thinking of me."

Mycroft blinked rapidly. "I think of you all the time, my love. And Not-George felt that you may appreciate the gesture."

"Oh, I do, pet." He licked and nibbled again before reaching for the other foot. "They're quite - enticing." Greg ran his teeth around the protrusion of the inner ankle bone, fingers tickling along the underside of his toes. "You told him about me?"

"I did. He - he asked to see a picture."

Greg put his foot back on the mattress and ran his hands up his shins. "Very few of those photos are fit for public consumption, Mycroft."

Another furious blush. "Ah - yes. And I do regret that he saw one that was perhaps a bit naughty, but he did not pry any further. I do believe that he was simply happy to see that I was happy." Mycroft dropped his eyes and twiddled his fingers nervously. "I have known Not-George for a number of years now, and I believe us to be friends, after a certain manner. He - he was there during my time with Josef, and would often help to ease my pain... He was of great comfort to me."

Gregory's hands tightened around his ankles slightly. "Then why didn't he..."

Mycroft held up a placating hand, not needing to lift up his eyes to know that his lover was looking at him with his particular odd combination of cold anger and warm concern. "The people at this particular establishment are paid very well for their silence as well as their services, my dear. Had Not-George brought anything to the authorities, I would have blithely denied it all and he would have lost not only his job, but his reputation as well. We both did as we felt we had to do under the circumstances. Circumstances that neither of us will be involved with again." He chanced a look at his lover, relieved to see his anger draining away. "Although I do regret making you wait, I do not regret going to see him this afternoon. I realised that it had been a while, and when I arrived, I was a bit surprised to find that he had been concerned about me. But then I spoke of you, and his concern lessened considerably. He became quite light-hearted, and I do believe that some of his whimsy may have influenced me unduly. Hence the..." Mycroft wiggled his toes again, and Gregory smiled down at them, flashing in the light.

"I think I'd like to meet this Not-George of yours. So I can thank him for looking after you when you needed it." Mycroft smiled shyly and Greg swallowed. "You do know, pet - that... That even before all of this, before us... That I would have helped you, if you had come to me."

"I do, my love. And if I had been stronger, I may have. But I was foolish and weak, far too afraid to expose myself to you. You have bolstered me, made me more - me. And whatever happens, I will be forever grateful to you for that."

Greg swiftly came up on his hands and knees, crawling up over Mycroft's body. He kissed away the tears that were threatening to fall and pressed his lips to his forehead. "Love you, pet." He pulled Mycroft's head down and nuzzled into his hair again, breathing deeply. "You're under there somewhere, but there are too many other smells." He huffed and growled. "Still don't like it."

"I am sorry, Mr. Wolf..." Mycroft smiled as Greg chuckled quietly. "The sheer variety of oils and lotions and clay and God only knows what else that they applied to my body was astounding. My own senses were rather assaulted, and of course I showered, but I did not think to wash my hair."

"I'll just have to get you all nice and sweaty so you smell like you again."

Mycroft grinned. "Or you can just make me smell like you, instead." Greg chuckled and ducked down into his neck to lick a long stripe from the hollow to behind his ear. He hummed as his pet shivered and gently ran his enhanced teeth along his clavicle. "Gregory..." Mycroft's breathy sigh made his spine contract, and he sat back on his lap abruptly, watching with avid interest as he opened the bag and dipped his hand inside.

The first item that Mycroft drew out was the tail. He laid it across Greg's knees, lips quirking at the expressions flitting over his lover's face. Sheer disbelief, a large measure of humour, but then a stern resolution before he reached out to touch it. "It's, um - quite a bit fluffier than I was expecting." He stroked it doubtfully. "This isn't real fur, is it?"

"No. Just a remarkable facsimile." Mycroft suddenly grinned. "No animals were harmed in the making of, yadda yadda."

"Yadda yadda?" Greg shook his head as he inspected the plug, a solid metal affair very similar to the first toy he had purchased for Mycroft. He watched his fingers combing through the thick fur, dark underneath, with a graduated tinge of lighter-coloured fur overlaying the entire length, the tip a solid silver sheen. "It's surprisingly - lovely, actually. And the ears?" He glanced up as Mycroft held them out to him silently. Not a headband, but two rather large furry triangles, coloured much the same as the tail, on individual hair clips. Greg ran one hand through his hair as he hefted them in the other, trying to determine if they'd be too heavy for his relatively short hair to handle.

Mycroft's eyes softened as he watched Gregory figuring out the logistics before simply taking them back and securing them on his lover's head for him. Gregory grinned at him impishly, shaking his head slightly to make sure they were anchored well. Mycroft's breath caught in his chest at the sight, his Gregory's dark eyes twinkling at him from underneath those magnificent ears and his delightful tongue poking out from between gleaming sharp teeth.

He licked his lips and nodded toward the bag. "What else?"

"Anything else that is in there is for my outfit, and you're not to see any of it until I am wearing it."

"Tease." Greg lifted the tail from his knees and tickled Mycroft's nose with the tip. "A little assistance, perhaps?"

Mycroft smiled rather wolfishly in return. "Oh, indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets a bit more of Wolfie than he was expecting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit in the 'Red and Wolfie' scene, but not complete, of course. Because of reasons, I suppose...
> 
> Do let me know how I'm doing - I simply live for your comments!
> 
> ;-p

Greg shivered, unconsciously raking his fingers through the thick fur of the tail as he clambered off of Mycroft's legs and settled down, his belly flat against the mattress. He made a little face as Mycroft slid off the bed, taking the small bag into the toilet before joining him again, a bottle of lube and a clean flannel in hand. "I wasn't gonna peek, pet."

"You were going to try. Don't think you can fib to _me_ , my love." Mycroft settled onto his knees at Greg's side and reached up to caress one of the ears, running his cool fingers down the back of his head, his neck, following the curve of his spine. Greg gasped and spread his legs as the fingers continued to move downward, tracing along the crack of his arse. He lifted his hips and tilted them slightly, and Mycroft hummed as his fingers tripped along Gregory's perineum, to his bollocks. He rolled them gently in his palm before pulling away, reaching for a pillow and repositioning himself between his lover's legs.

Greg felt his pet's cool hands on his hips, pulling gently, and he answered the unspoken demand, briefly pushing himself up so the pillow could be tucked underneath him. He tilted his head as he felt Mycroft deliberately manipulating his cock and bollocks to lie between his spread legs, against the outside of the pillow, rather than tucked up against his body. Greg shifted slightly, as he was already semi-hard again, and his cock was silently protesting being placed at what it obviously deemed to be an awkward angle.

He shook his head and shivered as Mycroft's fingers traced delicate swirls on his upturned cheeks. Greg sighed and looked over his shoulder, idly flicking the tip of the tail against his chin. "Aren't you missing something?"

His pet smiled sharply, but did not lift his eyes from the bounty laid before him. "In a moment, my love. You hold onto it for me for just a little longer. In fact, you may wish to hold onto the plug itself..."

Greg frowned and turned back to the accessory that he was petting and shifted his attention to the plug. Oh, right - metal. He touched it and shivered, imagining how quickly his pucker would, well - pucker - if that damn chilly thing went anywhere near it. He flicked the length of the tail over his arm and closed his hand around the plug, hoping his body heat would be enough to warm the thing through.

Then all thoughts of plugs and tails and ears ceased as there was a subtle shifting behind him, as Mycroft leant down and firmly parted his arse-cheeks, exhaling a warm, shuddering breath over his exposed flesh. Greg could only groan in response, dropping his face into the mattress. He fought to keep still as Mycroft hummed low and kissed him just there, as he settled onto his own stomach and dipped his head even lower. He traced along the underside of Greg's cock and bollocks and the delicate ridge of his perineum with just the very tip of his tongue, a touch so light and gentle that it could hardly be felt at all, but Greg knew just what his pet was doing back there because he could follow the path of Mycroft's hot breath, could feel the moisture that he was leaving behind.

The teasing light touch was abruptly abandoned as Mycroft continued moving up, flattening his tongue and simply swiping the entirety of it against Greg's hole, pressing firmly as he swirled, his nose dipping into the hollow of his tailbone as he opened his mouth wide. There was a delicious scraping of teeth along his flesh, and Greg moaned as he writhed against him. Mycroft echoed the sound, making hungry little noises as he fluttered his tongue against the tight dusky furl of Greg's hole, squeezing the firm flesh that was held in his grip.

He used his thumbs to tug and grasp, giggling with delight as Gregory's entrance twitched under his scrutiny. Then he pointed his tongue and simply wriggled it inside, sighing as Greg cried out and pushed back into him. Mycroft took his time, patiently pressing in and withdrawing in a steady rhythm, humming with satisfaction as he felt Gregory's body giving way, slowly opening for him. He leant back slightly, circling his lover's somewhat loosened hole with his fingers, smiling as one slipped in with no resistance.

Greg gasped and pushed back into him, rolling his hips, fucking himself shallowly on Mycroft's finger. His pet 'tsk'ed at him, removing his hand and replacing it once more with his tongue. He moaned into him as Gregory continued to roll his hips, whining quietly at every thrust of that unbearably nimble muscle. Mycroft withdrew again, resting his cheek on his lover's trembling arse, blowing a gentle breath across spittle-soaked skin.

"Gregory... Oh, my love. You are..." Mycroft sighed and ran his nose over and along his crack, inhaling deeply. "Utterly divine." He dove back in, nibbling delicately before simply shoving his tongue in as far as it would go.

Greg yelped and stiffened abruptly. " _Ngh_ , p-pet - I... _oh_."

Mycroft chuckled low and dark before reaching between Gregory's legs, swiftly encircling the base of cock and bollocks with his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard, cutting off his impending orgasm. "No, Gregory. Not yet."

Greg's body relaxed and he sighed breathily, continuing to move against Mycroft's mouth in a languid, drowsy manner. It wasn't long, however, before he started pushing back a little more insistently, more or less grinding his arse right into his lover's face. He continued to whine quietly in between short, panting moans. "Myc - Jesus, pet."

Mycroft hummed before withdrawing, this time sliding two fingers in with ease. Greg's back arched and he planted his face in the mattress, groaning loudly. "Oh, yes, my love." Mycroft released him before pushing himself up onto his knees, draping his body over Gregory's back, writhing against him. He laid his cheek on his lover's shoulder and hummed again as Greg blew out a strong breath. "I could happily spend the entire evening feasting on you, my dear, but then you wouldn't get to see my outfit."

Greg chuckled. "And you wouldn't get to see me with the tail."

"A veritable tragedy, my love. Speaking of..." Greg chuckled again, once more running his fingers through the thick fur of the tail before passing it over his shoulder. "Thank you, my dear." Mycroft slithered down his lover's body, pressing gentle kisses along his spine as he moved. Greg watched over his shoulder as Mycroft once more settled between his legs, licking his lips with a distinct glimmer in his eyes.  
   
"Pet, you are going to bloody well _kill_ me." Mycroft grinned sharply and once more bent down to lay messy, open-mouthed kisses on Greg's cheeks before reaching for the lube. He slicked up the plug and waited patiently for his lover to re-situate himself, going up on his knees and elbows, his head hanging between his arms. Greg giggled quietly as he felt the ears clipped to the top of his head brush against the mattress, but moaned lustily as his pet put the tip of the plug to his hole and pushed gently. He pushed back, hissing in a short breath as his body opened and stretched just a bit at a time, Mycroft keeping a steady pressure on the base of the plug as he twisted his wrist slightly.  
   
"Just a touch more, Gregory. You're doing so well."  
   
Greg grunted and jerked his hips, grinning as he felt the pop of the largest bit passing through, as his arse bloody well swallowed up the rest of it in one swift motion. He gasped as he clenched down, rolling his hips as his body adjusted to the new intrusion. Mycroft moaned behind him, and Greg pushed himself up on his hands, trying to see as he looked over his shoulder. He couldn't, not really, but with another twitch of his hips he could certainly feel it, the soft fur brushing against the inside and back of his thighs. There was a slight tug as Mycroft touched it, running his fingers through the fur. He yanked gently but quite deliberately and Greg shivered, feeling all of his lower region sizzle with the sensation of it.  
   
"Unh, pet. _God_." Mycroft shifted to his side, and Greg sat back on his heels, shaking his head a little to clear it. He clenched again, reaching behind to grasp Mycroft's hand in his own to keep him from tugging on it again. "I need a moment, sweetheart." He gave his arse a little wiggle, grinning as Mycroft blushed rosily and bit his lip. "So how does it look?"

Mycroft whimpered in the back of his throat as Gregory lifted his hand to his mouth, casually running one of his new canines around the ball of his thumb before pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm. "You are..." Gregory tilted his head inquisitively and blinked as Mycroft's mind went completely blank. "I haven't the words. Gregory... Oh, my love." Mycroft let his arm go limp in Gregory's grip as he sniffed delicately at his wrist, letting his tongue loll out to trace the intricate framework of the veins underneath his creamy skin. Gregory's lips turned up as Mycroft gasped, his face flushing and chest heaving slightly.

With a quiet growl, Greg tugged on his arm, bringing him closer into his body. He ran his nose along Mycroft's jaw, huffing out a short hot breath as he came to his chin, still damp with his previous exertions. Greg licked at him delicately, rumbling low in his chest as he began to lave his tongue over Mycroft's chin and lips, cleaning him thoroughly. "Oh, pet..." He nipped at the tip of his nose before moving back down, insinuating his tongue into his mouth. Mycroft moaned incoherently and melted into him, unconsciously shifting so he was straddling Greg's lap. " _Mm_. Me - oh, you taste like me, you smell of me, my pet, my love..."

Mycroft threw his head back as Gregory moved down, running lips and tongue and teeth along the perfect column of his outstretched neck, as he moved lower, teasing and tickling his nipples until they were hard and aching. Both of Gregory's arms were suddenly wrapped around him tight, and Mycroft arched into him even as he dimly felt his body being laid down on the mattress. "W-wait..." Greg snarled quietly and pushed him down, tongue and teeth still in motion as he moved lower, spending a little time on the dip in his stomach, nibbling around his navel. Another quiet growl, and then his legs were suddenly hooked over Gregory's shoulders, and Mycroft's brain went just a bit offline at the first touch of his lover's nimble tongue against his over-heated flesh. He cried out, clutching at Gregory's head, nearly knocking the ears askew. "Gregory! P-please... Please _stop_."

Greg shook his head slightly as he withdrew, turning utterly fierce, black eyes on his lover. Mycroft shivered as Gregory glared, fighting the urge to curl up into a defensive ball underneath him. "Of all the times to resist me, Mycroft. Now - when I want nothing more than to smell you, taste you, eat you all up and fill you completely. When I am finally free to do all of the things to you that I've been dreaming about... _This_ is the time you choose."

"I'm not resisting, my love. You can and will do all of those things and good God I want you to do anything and _everything_ to me. I j-just - I want to play, Gregory. You're already playing your part so well, I wish to join in. Please, my love. I've been seeing this in my head for so long, please, please let me make it _real_." Greg growled as he looked down, his fingers clutching hard at Mycroft's inner thighs, spreading him wide. His pet whimpered slightly before closing his eyes and tilting his head back, offering his throat in a gesture of submission and defeat. He had tried, at least, and of course he could not begrudge Gregory any action that he may decide to take. It was partially his own fault, as he had been encouraging his lover to let his inner beast come out to play. Even if he was not allowed play his specific role, Mycroft was already rather pleased with the results anyway. It certainly seemed that he would still benefit from this particular experiment... Perhaps next time he should just arrive already outfitted - yes, he had a coat that would adequately conceal whatever costume he could possibly dare...

Mycroft whimpered again as Gregory's fingers tightened further, drawing him neatly out of his whirling thoughts. He gasped as he was released, lifting his head as Gregory backed away, climbing off the bed to stand at the foot, his arms crossed over his chest. Mycroft sat up slowly, wincing slightly as Greg scowled at him and nodded toward the small toilet curtly. "Get on with it, pet. Before I completely lose my temper." He shifted slightly, his face twisting in concentration as he twitched his hips, once more feeling out the sensation of the furry tail swiping along his thighs. 

Mycroft bit his lip and slid off the bed, making for the bathroom with no delay. He paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. "Perhaps you would like to take a look at yourself, my dear?"

Greg grunted quietly and strode over, gently pushing Mycroft further into the toilet as he positioned himself in front of the sink. He stood sideways and went up on his tip-toes to get a better look in the small mirror, snorting out a brief huff of laughter. He shook his arse and hummed at the feeling of both the plug and the tail before leaning against the sink to take in the ears. Greg tilted his head this way and that before tucking his chin down into his chest, looking at himself from underneath his lashes. He grinned suddenly, showing all of his teeth and letting his tongue hang out just a bit. "Not bad, I guess. Maybe next time we should get some of those freaky contact lenses too." He looked at Mycroft, who was standing just a bit too close, his cool grey eyes roving all over Greg's body. "Then it might seem like you're really dealing with a wild animal."

Mycroft breathed out a gusty sigh. "Oh, but I _am_ , my love." He ran his hand from the tip of one ear all the way down Gregory's body, once more tugging at the tail gently. "And it is _exhilarating_..." Gregory's eyes flashed as he turned fully, grasping Mycroft by the upper arms, swiftly turning him around and driving him into the opposite wall. With nothing but a snarl, he ducked his head into his pet's neck, opening his mouth wide and setting his new teeth into his existing marks. He bit down gently but firmly, shaking his head slightly. Mycroft gasped and went utterly still, his head pulsing in time to his pounding heartbeat. Oh, yes - wild indeed.

Greg shook him again, sliding his hands from his arms down to his hips. He pressed him hard against the wall as he rolled his own hips, his stiff prick sliding neatly between Mycroft's legs. He shuddered and began to move, thrusting shallowly, the head of his cock brushing against his pet's hole on every stroke. "Should just take you like this. No prep, just force my way in and fuck you dry. Show you how an _animal_ does it." Mycroft blanched, the blood swiftly draining from his face. Not that Greg could see that, as his own forehead was pressed in between his shoulder blades as he continued to move against him. "Fuck. Is that what you want, My? You want to see me lose control? You want me to hurt you? Is that it?"

Mycroft trembled, momentarily unable to find his voice as Gregory moved behind him, his strokes increasing in speed and depth. "No, my love." Even though - yes. Mycroft wanted to be everything that he needed, and if Gregory ever felt the need to hurt someone, then Mycroft would happily offer up his body for him to do as he wished. Not that he thought that he would ever be driven to it, not that Gregory would ever take pleasure in such a thing, but if he needed it, oh yes. But this - no, not like this. It was too reminiscent of what Mycroft was attempting to forget, his disastrous first time. He felt his cheeks burning in horror at the thought that perhaps he had been driving Gregory to re-create something best forgotten, for some shadowy purpose that he could not ascertain. Not that he would - but this creature that was even now panting and straining behind him, he wasn't entirely Gregory though, was he? He was something else now, something that Mycroft had brought to life and had absolutely no hope of controlling.

_"Fuck!"_ Greg growled and bit down on a creamy shoulder as he shuddered, abruptly withdrawing and aiming his cock at Mycroft's arse as he came. He panted quietly as Mycroft slumped against the wall, fighting back shameful tears. Greg took no notice, smearing his release all over his pet's backside before lifting his hand to Mycroft's mouth. He took Gregory's hand in both of his and dutifully licked up his mess, his eyes downcast. "That's it, pet." Gregory's voice was soft, and Mycroft chanced a quick glance at his face, a feeling of relief washing over him at the adoring expression on his lover's face. "That's all right, in't it? All better now."

Mycroft shuddered and turned into him, tucking his face into Gregory's neck. "I am sorry, my love."

Greg hummed and ran his hands down Mycroft's back. "No need to apologise. Perhaps I was still a bit wound up from earlier. I don't think either of us realised..."

"I pushed you unduly." Mycroft stood straight and reached for Greg's head, intending to remove the ears.

His brow quirked as Gregory jerked away. "What makes you think I'm done with you, pet?" He smacked his sticky arse before squeezing one cheek hard. "Get cleaned up and get dressed. You can take your time, now." He grinned crookedly. "The Beast has been tamed, but Wolfie is still ready to play." Greg felt something in his chest twinge slightly as Mycroft blushed and smiled at him, his grey eyes sparkling. He pulled him in for a gentle kiss before stepping away, nodding at the bag that was sitting on the top of the cabinet. "Make yourself pretty for me, Red. I'll be waiting. _Patiently_ , this time..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some issues are discussed, and Red finally puts in an appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eee! Okay, so here we go... The next bit will be better, I promise. And I may even be able to post it this week, but I'm not promising that! (I am however, posting a little snippet in the End Notes here...)
> 
> :)
> 
> Comment, please! Give me something to feed my tortured artist within! *giggle*

Greg paused in the doorway as Mycroft pulled out a clean flannel and turned toward the sink. "Pet." Mycroft looked up, a little furrow of worry crinkling his brow. Gregory reached out to him, his broad fingers caressing his forehead gently. Mycroft's eyes closed almost of their own accord, and he felt his body relax under Gregory's touch. Without thinking, he folded himself into his lover's arms, once again tucking his face into his fine, strong neck.

Greg turned his head into Mycroft's hair and buried his nose in the soft red waves, breathing deeply. "You do know, pet, that I wouldn't have, right? Those things I said - I wouldn't. I couldn't." He sighed deeply, running his hands along Mycroft's spine. "I don't have it in me, Mycroft. I can't be like those other men. Not even if it's something you need of me."

Mycroft mumbled something into the flesh of his neck, and Greg huffed out a short breath of laughter before grasping his shoulders and pushing him away slightly. He looked up into Mycroft's downcast face and quirked an eyebrow. A tiny smile lifted one corner of his pet's mouth before he answered Greg's unspoken query. _'What was that?'_

Mycroft sighed miserably. "I know you would never hurt me, Gregory. Not deliberately. And I most emphatically do _not_ require it of you. I - I think I may have regressed a bit, perhaps. That moment - on the bed, when I was begging, but surrendered anyhow - you, well, you didn't behave the way I was expecting. B-before you, I would have been taken at that moment, and I would have allowed you to do so if that was what you wanted. But you retreated, instead. You knew how important the whole game was to me, so you put your immediate need aside. For _me_." He paused, glancing at Gregory's face, getting caught up in his gorgeous brown eyes. "It didn't feel - right - to me, somehow. I'm not even sure that I was entirely aware of it, although I do believe I knew what I was doing when I provoked you into action here. I am sorry, my love."

"Stop that. You can't always be apologising for things that are out of your control, Mycroft. And feelings like that often sneak up on us in the strangest of ways. I am not angry with you, and yes, I am still going to play this silly little game with you -because it's something that you want. I love seeing you happy, sweetheart. Giggling like a small child because you're absolutely stupid with happiness and you just don't even know what to do with yourself." Greg frowned slightly, his own eyes dropping to the floor. "I just - well. I still worry that I'm not giving you everything you need. Do you miss it?" He swallowed uneasily. "Th-the cruelty, the disregard, the violence?"

The last word as spoken almost as a whisper, and Mycroft trembled as he shook his head. "No, my love. Not at all." He flexed his hands in their grip on Gregory's ribs, humming with contentment as they expanded under his grasp, his lover breathing in deep and letting out a hefty sigh. "No. It's just that it was all I knew for such a long time, that there is still a part of me that thinks that's the way it should be. But it isn't. Perhaps it never should have been that way at all..."

"No, it shouldn't. And it never will be again. Promise me, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled faintly. "Haven't I already promised?"

"You didn't really mean it then." Greg tilted his head slightly. "That was before we acknowledged our feelings for one another, and you were somehow convinced that you would have to give me up at some point. You said it to appease me. Now I want you to mean it, to really take it to heart. Not for me, my love. For _yourself_." Greg took his face in his hands, lightly running his thumbs over Mycroft's cheekbones. "No matter what happens, you will not allow yourself to be treated in that manner. Never again."

They both ignored the single tear that dropped from Mycroft's left eye, Gregory's thumb deftly wiping it away without comment. Mycroft found himself standing straighter as he looked down into his lover's face, his dark eyes boring into him, the pure strength of his love pouring into him and lending him the steel that he suddenly found in his spine. "Never, Gregory. I promise, it will _never_ happen again."

This time it was Gregory that folded himself into the embrace, his head on Mycroft's chest. Mycroft giggled quietly as the furry ears tickled at his chin, and Gregory echoed the laugh, chuckling low as he continued to move his head against him. He suddenly dipped and licked at one pink nipple before nibbling delicately. Mycroft jumped and pushed him away. "Fiend."

Gregory grinned at him from the doorway. "You still up for this, Red? It's already been quite an emotional evening. We could just relax, maybe watch a film with John downstairs?"

Mycroft grinned back sharply. "Would you be willing to go down attired as you are now?"

Greg blushed bright-red and turned sideways. "I could hardly sit on the sofa like this, now, could I?"

Mycroft's eyes flashed before turning soft. "You are terribly considerate, my love, but - I still want to play, Gregory." He reached out to trail one finger from the hollow of his lover's neck to his navel and then back again, stopping at the key resting on his sternum. He fiddled with it, almost absent-mindedly. "I want that more than anything right now."

"Then that's what we'll do." Greg glanced down at the long, elegant fingers that were swirling random patterns in his chest hair, always returning to that tiny key. "You want me to set you loose, pet?"

Mycroft bit his lip. "Not yet. But - may I hold onto the key, Gregory? Just for tonight."

"Hm. Something to do with the game?" Mycroft's cheeks went delightfully pink as he nodded. "All right, then." Greg ducked his head as his pet carefully manoeuvred the chain from around his neck and up over the ears. He went up on tip-toe and kissed Mycroft's cheek before nodding again at the small bag. "Go on."

Mycroft smiled and gently pushed him out of the toilet, closing the door in his face. Greg just stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of water running in the sink, and Mycroft humming to himself as he washed up. He turned toward the bed and began straightening it out, returning the pillows to their proper position, snatching up the bottle of lube from where it had fallen and placing it on the bedside table.

His thoughts kept circling back to his pet, of course. To all of the pain that he had suffered in his past and apparently still felt that he deserved. Although, no - maybe not. Greg had only had to punish him once or twice, and the first time had been for something he hadn't even done here, in their little cocoon. No, it was for something that had happened in the outside world, something that he hadn't been able to even tell Greg about. But he had still punished him, willingly, merely because it was something that Mycroft had needed from him at the time. God, he hoped he wouldn't ask that of him ever again. No, Mycroft really had made an amazing amount of progress, and Greg was willing to let whatever had happened between them to stand as it was. Realisations had been reached on both sides, some issues hopefully resolved. Until they popped up again, of course. But that was all right too - whatever his pet needed of him, whether it was an opportunity to talk something out, or even act it out; if it would help to ease some of his pet's troubles, Greg would happily oblige.

Greg shook his head, willing away the worry that was building in his chest and beginning to wear him down. No, the rest of the evening was going to be for fun - for play. Greg started shifting around the small room, twitching his hips to a song playing in his head. He clenched down on the intrusion in his arse, shivering as the action drew the plug in tighter to his body, and it brushed faintly against his prostate. It seemed that the tail itself was heavy enough to weight it down sufficiently to keep from stimulating him constantly. He shivered again as he released his muscles, feeling it shift downwards and settle once more.

He was on the far side of the bed now, pacing, he suddenly realised. Perhaps still a little worked up, due to the anticipation, of course, but definitely under control. He stared down at his feet as he moved, and tilted his head at something sticking out from under the bed. He crouched to investigate, and grinned when he saw it was just a wayward flannel. He reached for it and froze as he heard the creak of the bathroom door opening.

Greg cleared his throat quietly and came up on his haunches, supporting himself on the mattress as he looked across the room. Mycroft's lips quirked as he saw Gregory's face slowly come into view, the large furry ears leading the way. Then he once more schooled his expression into one of pure innocence as his lover rose to his feet. His breath hitched slightly as Gregory put one knee up on the bed and then the other, crawling over the mattress on all fours. He stopped at the edge closest to him, going down on his elbows and sticking his arse in the air as he looked Mycroft over, top to toe. Mycroft gasped and nearly dropped his basket as Gregory wiggled his bum sharply, making the tail twitch out from behind him.

"Oh, Red..."

"Master Wolf, I presume?"

Gregory grinned and climbed off the bed. "In a moment. Let me get a good look at you first..." Mycroft primly held his little basket of goodies in front of his - well - goodies, as Gregory prowled around him. He stopped and sniffed at the basket briefly. "Chocolate chip? With nuts, I hope."

"Those are for Grandmama." Gregory started to reach for the contents, but jerked his hand away as Mycroft smacked at him. "Paws off!"

Greg snarled quietly, but there was still a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "Red, you look...delicious." He stepped back momentarily to take in the whole picture, from the shiny patent-leather buckle shoes to the thigh-high white stockings (which did indeed have pretty little red bows, right at the thigh band), to the flirty little 'skirt' that was barely more than a flimsy band of some red crepe-y material, which floated and fluttered most becomingly, but did next-to-nothing to conceal what lay underneath. Which was... Well.

Greg stalked around him again, pausing at the back to lift up his skirt and sneak a peek, skipping away and giggling brightly as Mycroft quickly turned and once more tried to smack him. "Pet. Are you wearing knickers?"

Mycroft blushed. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

Greg tried to lift the front of the skirt, but was all too easily thwarted by the basket and another swift but gentle blow. "How are they keeping you all in there?"

The blush deepened. "While they are a more feminine cut and style, they were specifically designed for the male anatomy."

Greg felt his mouth drop open. "Are you telling me that you're wearing man-panties underneath that get-up?"

"What a horrid term."

"Manties. Good God, you're wearing _manties_."

" _Gah_ , that is even worse. I demand you stop using those words _at once_."

"Let me get a better look at them, and maybe I will. C'mon, show me those pretty little manties, Red."

Mycroft sniffed haughtily and turned his head, reaching up to adjust the hood on his little red velvet cape, which came just to his waist. He pulled it closed over his bare chest, once more resuming his hold on the handle of the basket with both hands, which were clad in dainty white fingerless gloves, decorated with small ruffles of lace at the wrist.

"Oh, fine. It's not like I won't be seeing them at some point tonight..." Mycroft cast him a sideways glance, coy but naughty all at once. Greg shivered and took in a deep breath, lowering his voice. "Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman..."

Mycroft quirked one elegant brow and blew out an exasperated sigh. "Gregory, that is entirely the wrong sort of tale altogether."

"Oh, you think so, pet?" Greg leant into him, sniffing at his neck before nipping at his chin. "Because I certainly do smell you. Your skin." He licked at his pulse point. "Your blood." Greg crouched swiftly, butting his head against the basket, shoving it aside. He leant in again and growled low. "Your sex. Oh, I smell you, Red." He pushed himself back to his feet, stepping behind Mycroft, who found himself completely flushed and more than just a bit disconcerted. Greg pushed himself up against the wall and whispered hoarsely. "I _smell_ you, child. And I'm going to _find_ you."

With a tiny jolt of excitement, Mycroft suddenly realised that the game had finally begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little taste of what's to come in Chapter 19...
> 
>  
> 
> _"There's no reason for you not to believe that you are in danger, Red. You are tucked away in a wolf's den, after all. In the middle of a deep, dark forest, with no-one else around for miles. The only beings that will hear your cries are creatures of the forest, and they care not one whit for any human child that was foolish enough to trample over my boundaries." Greg lifted his head and grinned as he came to Mycroft's clasped hands, trembling in the vee between his legs. "The only reason you aren't in immediate danger is because I already had one of my pets tend to me today. Twice, in fact."_
> 
>  
> 
> _Mycroft sucked in a trembling breath as Gregory shifted, straddling his outstretched legs, splaying one broad hand on his creamy belly. "P-pets?" He shivered as the tail that his lover was sporting settled in between his legs, the thick fur tickling at his stockings._
> 
>  
> 
> _"Indeed. I've quite the menagerie. There's Panther, long and lean and sleek. Unfortunately, he can have an attitude rather like yours, snappy and surly. I sometimes have to muzzle him, but I know that he secretly adores the things I do to him. And my lovely Bobcat, strong and fierce and playful. He's been my pet longer than the others - he comes to me willingly, and we take great pleasure in tumbling together. And then there is Fox. Oh, my sweet little Fox. He is utterly devoted to me, you see. He allows me to do anything I desire. Not one hour before you entered my forest, he had finished me off with his mouth, and I had rubbed myself off on his backside, leaving his beautiful fur quite a sticky mess. You should probably thank him, Red, for sating me so thoroughly before you rudely stumbled in."_


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfie gets Red into his den...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even more to follow, of course - although the next bit starts to wander into darker territory.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of Wolfie and dear Red...
> 
> Love you all!! :)

Mycroft glanced behind himself furtively, and began tip-toeing around the small room, pretending to be making his way through a vast forest. Gregory was only two or three tiny steps behind at any given moment, breathing in long, exaggerated sniffs and growling quietly. After trying to hold back on his giggles and mostly succeeding, Mycroft realised that he was feeling a little light-headed and abruptly crouched down, stuffing himself into the crevice between the wardrobe and the wall.

Gregory continued to pace in front of him, conveniently ignoring his little bolt-hole for the moment. His head swivelled to and fro as he 'hunted', his nostrils flaring and his fingers twitching against his thighs. "You come here, to _my_ forest - you presume to just wander in and use my paths without consent. Child, didn't you know that I require tribute? A toll for the use of my lands? You thought you could sneak past _me_ , the Big Bad Wolf?"

Mycroft gasped quietly, his eyes going wide as Gregory stopped and tilted his head. Dear God, he was magnificent - his face set in concentration even as his delightful tongue poked out from those even more delightful teeth, that lovely tail swishing behind him as he moved, the solid muscles in his legs tensing at every little noise that Mycroft made. And the words he was using - so very like something out of a classic book of fairy tales. Mycroft sighed breathily and swiftly covered his own mouth with one gloved hand as Gregory twitched his head in his direction once more. God, yes. So beautiful, so talented, so fierce and loving and so unbelievably - sexy. _Unf_.

Gregory smiled slowly, sharply, even as he turned his body toward the wardrobe. His eyes roved everywhere but the spot where Mycroft was crouching, but he knew without a doubt that he was all but captured. "You see, child, the very air you breathe gives you away. I can smell you, can smell your..." He paused, taking in another deep breath. "Not fear, no. Excitement." Another flare of his nostrils. "Your...arousal." Gregory snarled low, his voice taking on a deeper timbre, a subtle growl underlying every word. "Oh, child... You _want_ to be caught, don't you?" His dark gaze suddenly locked onto Mycroft's cool grey eyes and then he was just there, standing before him, his grin showing nothing but sharp white teeth.

Mycroft gasped again and wriggled his shoulders free from the restriction of the wardrobe and wall, going down on his knees. He clutched his basket to his belly as he looked down at Gregory's feet. "Please, Master Wolf. Please have pity. I-I was unaware that this was your territory, that a toll was required. I'm afraid that I have nothing to offer you, sir. Please, let me pass."

Gregory chuckled darkly, and a shiver went skittering down Mycroft's spine. "Child. You know that isn't going to happen." He reached out to cup Mycroft's chin, lifting his face. "What are you called, little one?"

"Red Riding Hood, Your Grace."

One dark eyebrow quirked in humour, and Gregory chuckled again. "And what was your purpose in invading my forest, Red?"

"My Grandmother is ill, Master Wolf. She lives in a small cottage on the outskirts of these woods. I-I simply thought to save some time..."

"That you would trespass on my lands."

Mycroft stared up at him defiantly. "That I would pass through instead of going around, yes. As I said, I did not know there was a toll."

Gregory's grip on his chin tightened ever so slightly as he suddenly bent closer to Mycroft's face, snarling quietly. "Don't you get lippy with me, child. Ignorance of the law of the forest is no excuse for breaking the rules. You can feign ignorance all you like, but surely you are aware of the situation in which you now find yourself? Impudence is unseemly, Red, and will _not_ garner you pleasant results."

_"Oh."_ Greg smirked as he felt Mycroft's body jerk under his hand, as the quiet exclamation was forced from his mouth. Mycroft tried to look suitably chagrined as he dropped his eyes, although the truth was that he was already almost unbearably aroused, his cock twitching and straining against its prison. "I do humbly beg your forgiveness, Master Wolf."

Greg straightened his posture, letting up on some of the pressure on Mycroft's chin, but he did not release him, either. "And I may give it to you. But not just yet." He looked down thoughtfully. "We may yet be able to resolve this issue somewhat easily. What have you in the basket, Red?"

"Nothing that would interest you as a toll, Master Wolf. Just a few biscuits and some medicinal herbs. Besides, they are not mine to give. I was instructed to bring them directly to Grandmother, in hopes they would assuage her illness."

Greg sighed heavily. "No, you are quite correct. Biscuits, bah. What am I to do with a bunch of paltry human confectioneries? And I have access to all of the herbs I would ever deem necessary..."

Mycroft licked his lips slowly, shivering as Gregory's dark gaze locked onto his mouth. "If you will permit, Your Grace... I do have one thing in my possession that may suffice..."

Gregory swallowed as Mycroft carefully put the basket aside and reached out to run his hands up the backs of his thighs. "And what would that be, child?"

"My body, of course."

"Oh, of course." He shifted his grip on Mycroft's face, pushing back the hood of the cape before running his thumb along his pink lips, grinning sharply as Mycroft's tongue darted out to taste it. "Look at you - so eager. Not quite as innocent as you seem, are you, Red?"

"Oh, Master Wolf... You have _no_ idea." Mycroft blushed prettily as Gregory's breath hitched in his chest, and he gently pushed his thumb into his hot, wet mouth. Mycroft hummed as he sucked at it, swirling his tongue around the pad and nibbling delicately on the knuckle. He gasped and turned his head as Gregory withdrew, unconsciously chasing after his hand. Mycroft leant into his touch, looking up at him coyly from underneath his lashes. "Perhaps the use of my mouth would be an adequate penance? Would that suffice as a proper toll?"

Gregory stroked himself idly, watching with satisfaction as Mycroft's eyes followed the motion, his pupils getting larger and darker by the second. He placed the blunt tip of his cock at Mycroft's pink lips, grasping his hair hard as he brought his head in closer to his body. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Mycroft moaned obscenely around his hard length, and Greg fought to keep from throwing his head back. He thrust slowly, long and deep, pulling out nearly all the way before shoving his way back in. His pet fluttered his tongue against the underside of his thick cock on every stroke, alternating deep rolling hums with low, throaty moans. Greg sighed as he pulled out after only a few strokes, looking down at Mycroft's reddened, swollen lips, shining with saliva and pre-come.

"Oh, child... That would have indeed sufficed, perhaps even been more than I deserved. If..."

"If, Your Grace?" Mycroft licked his lips and clutched at Gregory's thighs a bit harder.

"If you had come to me first." He sighed deeply. "But you didn't, Red. Instead you chose to lead me a merry little chase in my own forest. _Me_." Greg grinned sharply as he grasped Mycroft's upper arms and yanked him to his feet. "And for that, child - oh, for that... You will pay very handsomely _indeed_." He licked at Mycroft's lips, humming at the faint salty-sweet tang that had been left behind by his cock, before simply insinuating his tongue into his mouth, nipping at Mycroft's tongue as it flickered against his. "You have freely offered me the entirety of your body, dear Red Riding Hood, and I am going to take you up on that offer. When I am done, if you have pleasured me as I expect of you, then perhaps you will be free to go to your Grandmother." His smile turned wicked as he once again looked Mycroft over. "However, you should also keep in mind that if you pleasure me too well, I may just decide to _keep_ you."

Mycroft trembled against Gregory's body, his knees going a little weak. "Oh, Master Wolf..."

Gregory growled low, turning Mycroft's head so he could nose behind his ear. "So many wonderful smells, child. _Mm_." He nodded down to the floor briefly. "Gather your belongings, Red. This is going to be done properly - in my den."

He waited for Mycroft to duck down and snatch up the basket, and then turned him toward the bed. Greg prodded at the small of his captive's back, pushing at him none too gently. Mycroft paused only to place his basket on the floor and toe off his shiny shoes before climbing into the bed, settling down against the headboard with his legs out straight in front of him, his hands folded primly in his lap.

Greg blew out a huff of disbelieving laughter as he looked at him. "You can stop with the innocent act, child. That mouth of yours is far too skilled for you to adequately play at being a naïf."

Mycroft tilted his head. "It is no act, Your Grace. It may be true that I have certain - skills - but I am not some lost, wanton creature. I can control myself, unlike some." He sullenly flickered his eyes sideways, taking in Gregory's form as he stretched, going up on his tip-toes and making a small noise in the back of his throat. Mycroft's body jerked again, and he blushed fiercely at his lover's sharp grin.

"O- _ho!_ So now that you're captured, you're going to offer me attitude? Did I not make it clear that your tribute was to please me? And did I not also make it perfectly clear that I do not find impudence to be an attractive trait?" He clambered onto the mattress at the foot of the bed and slowly began to advance on Mycroft on his hands and knees.

Mycroft fidgeted uncomfortably and suddenly found himself rambling mindlessly. "I do apologise, Master Wolf. I know that I can be terribly impertinent at times, it is one of my more negative traits. I am not always aware of it, I think that it may be a defence mechanism of sorts, for when I find myself in situations that leave me somewhat flustered. I did not mean to imply that you were out of control, in fact, given my rather egregious conduct, you've been remarkably kind and gentle. Much more than I expected..."

Gregory looked up from where he was sniffing at Mycroft's shins. "Expected? I thought that you were ignorant of the inhabitants of this forest and our customs."

Mycroft's mouth flopped around a bit. "I-I meant a-after you started t-to pursue me. I was v-very much aware of you then, and from your behaviour I believed my person to be very much in peril." He heaved out an almost silent sigh of relief as Gregory hummed vaguely and his head once more lowered, shifting from side to side as he moved up, breathing him in.

"There's no reason for you to not believe that you are in danger, Red. You are tucked away in a wolf's den, after all. In the middle of a deep, dark forest, with no-one else around for miles. The only beings that will hear your cries are creatures of the forest, and they care not one whit for any human child that was foolish enough to trample over my boundaries." Greg lifted his head and grinned as he came to Mycroft's clasped hands, trembling in the vee between his legs. "The only reason you aren't in immediate danger is because I already had one of my pets tend to me today. Twice, in fact."

Mycroft sucked in a trembling breath as Gregory shifted, straddling his outstretched legs, splaying one broad hand on his creamy belly. "P-pets?" He shivered as the tail that his lover was sporting settled in between his legs, the thick fur tickling at his stockings.

"Indeed. I've quite the menagerie. There's Panther, long and lean and sleek. Unfortunately, he can have an attitude rather like yours at times, snappy and surly. I sometimes have to muzzle him, but I know that he secretly adores the things I do to him. And my lovely golden Bobcat, strong and fierce and playful. He's been my pet longer than the others - he comes to me willingly, and we take great pleasure in tumbling together." He looked at Mycroft from under his lashes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I even let _him_ take _me_ from time to time... And then there is Fox. Oh, my sweet little Fox. He is utterly devoted to me, you see. He allows me to do anything I desire. Not one hour before you entered my forest, he had finished me off with his mouth, and I had rubbed myself off on his backside, leaving his beautiful fur quite a sticky mess. You should probably thank him, Red, for sating me so thoroughly before you rudely stumbled in."

Mycroft blinked rapidly, his mouth once again flopping about inelegantly. Sweet baby Jesus, this man and his mouth. He was a fantastic storyteller... Mycroft could easily see his other partners as Panther and Bobcat, could visualise himself as his beloved Fox, curled up at his feet... He shook himself slightly, seeing Gregory's lips turn up in a smirk as he watched him working through it in his head.

"I-if I ever have the pleasure of meeting your Fox, I will most certainly thank him. Profusely. B-but I may not, since you'll be releasing me afterwards, is that not correct?"

Gregory frowned slightly, running his hand up Mycroft's sternum, to his collarbone. He fiddled with the ties on the cape briefly before simply tugging them loose. "Pah. Humans and their need to cover themselves." He roughly shoved the plush red velvet off of Mycroft's shoulders. "Here, in the forest, you would not need such a thing. The forest provides all we require."

"Y-you don't wish to keep me, do you, Master Wolf? I am but a simple human, not fit for your forest. You would have to look after me, take care of me. I am not worthy of that sort of attention. Please, take what you desire and set me free."

Gregory's scowl deepened. "I have never had a human pet. You may be worth all of that and more, Red. Your appearance pleases me very much, and your mouth, what little I have sampled of it, reminds me of my dearest Fox." He leant in to sniff at his neck and shoulder. "And your scent - oh, child. You are _intoxicating_." He shifted back to the mattress and took hold of Mycroft's hips, tugging gently but persistently. Mycroft obediently moved downward in the bed, biting his lip as he looked up into Gregory's face. "On your belly, sweet Red. I need to scent every part of you."

Mycroft took up his discarded hood and folded it carefully, setting it on the floor before flipping onto his stomach. He sighed as he felt Gregory's hands on his ankles, spreading his legs so he could kneel in between. He shivered as he felt his lover's body heat radiating against his inner thighs, as his strong hands ran up the back of his stocking-clad legs.

Gregory chuckled low as he snapped at the thigh band of the stockings. "Although I do have to admit, sometimes these human coverings do seem to serve some sort of a purpose..." Mycroft grinned into the mattress, waiting for Gregory to alight on his obvious destination, the secret that was concealed underneath the tiny strip of fabric that served as a skirt. His touch was almost unbearably light as his fingertips ghosted over the material, caressing him and cupping his buttocks over the fabric. Then it was lifted, and Mycroft chanced a glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Gregory's face, his mouth curled up into a foolish grin as he looked down at his pet's red lace knickers. "Oh, child... You pretty, _pretty_ thing..."  
   
Mycroft dropped his face back into the mattress and groaned at the sound of the low growl in Gregory's voice, the tone striking at something deep in his belly. He squirmed as broad fingers dipped under the lace at the top of his legs, gently rubbing, caressing. Then Gregory shifted behind him, lowering his head to run his nose over the fabric that was pulled taut over the crack of his arse. Mycroft continued to writhe as his lover breathed him in deeply and blew out sharp, hot blasts of air through the red lace.

"Oh yes, Red." Greg hummed as he straightened slightly, reluctantly removing his fingers and wrapping his hands around lace-clad hips. "Up, child. I want to see your lovely rump in the air." Mycroft mumbled some sort of indistinguishable noise into the mattress, but he swiftly obeyed, coming up on his knees and dipping his spine. Greg hummed again before running his fingers along the waistband of the knickers, hooking at the material and pulling them down just far enough to give him access. He sat back abruptly, his brain having short-circuited at the sight of the red lace bunched up around the tops of Mycroft's creamy thighs, just underneath his pink, willing pucker.

He just sat there and dribbled mindlessly, until his pet wriggled his bum alluringly and glanced at him over his shoulder. Mycroft put on his most coquettish expression, and employed his most sensuous voice, the words dripping like honey from his tongue. "Oh, Master Wolf... Whatever is the matter? Am I not pleasing to your eye?" He bit his lip as he wriggled once more, fighting back the giggles that wanted to break free at the utterly stupefied expression on his lover's face. "Or am I perhaps too much for the Big Bad Wolf to handle?"

Gregory suddenly snapped back into himself, baring his sharp teeth in his most wolfish grin. "Oh, Red... You'll find that I am more than able to handle the likes of you. You are such a tender little morsel, after all..." He paused, tilting his head and reaching out to run one finger down Mycroft's crack. "So delicate. So - pink." He tucked himself up close to his pet's exposed arse, tugging at the fabric tangled between his legs as he simply shoved his nose into him. He inhaled deeply, his breath shuddering out over Mycroft's bollocks, making him gasp in shock. "So sweet. I do hope you taste as wonderful as you smell."

With that, he stuck out his tongue and swiped it the entire length of Mycroft's crack, from bollocks to the hollow of his tailbone. Gregory growled faintly and grasped at his cheeks firmly, holding him open as he licked and sucked and nibbled, snarling low in the back of his throat. Mycroft gasped and moaned and shuddered, pressing his face hard into the mattress. Gregory sucked in a great breath as he withdrew slightly, humming with satisfaction as Mycroft muffled a sharp cry of disappointment.

"Oh yes. Rich and spicy and warm and oh so sweet. Oh, child... How can you say you are unfit for my forest when your very _taste_ is that of the earth? My sweet Red. My lovely little human child..."

He dove back into Mycroft's arse, going a bit slower this time, but still using every bit of his mouth as he could, continuing to snarl and growl happily as he worked his pet's hole open. Mycroft's body jerked as one thumb made its way inside him, massaging the inner rim of his muscle gently but firmly. Gregory chuckled low and dark before swirling his tongue around his buried digit, adding more moisture and making the motion a little easier. Mycroft could only tremble and moan and squirm, wondering where Gregory was getting all that blasted saliva from - surely he was going to end up dehydrated before too long...

"Oh, Red, you taste so wonderful, you make my mouth water so. I just may drown in my own spittle..." Mycroft tilted his head, shaking it slightly as it seemed that his lover had somehow read his mind. "But I'm going to take you soon, and we may need a bit more than my mouth alone to make things comfortable for you. After all, you are a dainty, fragile creature, and I am used to lying with beasts, not men."

Mycroft pushed himself up on his hands, groaning loudly as the motion drove Gregory's thumb deeper into his body. He bit off the next groan that forced its way out of his throat as his lover wiggled said thumb, moving it in a large circular pattern. Panting quietly, he snatched the bottle of lube from the bedside table and tossed it in Gregory's general direction. "This is what we use. You'll find that it stays quite slick."

Mycroft gasped as the thumb was abruptly removed, Gregory using both hands to investigate the small bottle. He popped the cap and sniffed at it dubiously before squeezing a small amount onto his fingertips. He rubbed them together, a slow but sharp grin appearing on his face. Gregory touched his fingers to his tongue and made a face.

Mycroft sighed. "It isn't meant for consumption, Master Wolf. It's meant for fucking."

Gregory glared, but his lips turned up at the corner. "Feeling mouthy again, Red? I could always fetch Panther's muzzle..."

Mycroft blushed, but dropped his eyes. "That will not be necessary, Your Grace. I can behave."

"Oh, I know you _can_. It just seems that you don't wish to." He looked at the bottle that he was holding in his hand and nodded curtly. "I will try your human concoction. But first, I would very much like to feel you on my tongue. On your back."

"Ah." Mycroft stammered uneasily, but started to slowly manoeuvre himself onto his back, attempting to tug his ridiculously short skirt down to cover himself. "A-ah, actually, M-master Wolf, you may, w-well, you may as well just t-take me. I-I don't require any of th-that kind of, well, special attention, in fact, I am q-quite used to going without."

Gregory tilted his head inquisitively, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. "Why have you suddenly come over so shy, child? What is it that you are trying to hide from me?"

"N-nothing, Master Wolf. Nothing at all."

Gregory's eyes narrowed. " _Liar_. You are impudent and a liar. Show me, Red. You _will_ show me your secrets, or I will find them on my own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonding finally happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! There is going to be another chapter after this one (I think only one), and then John's b-day celebrations will commence!
> 
> Just a brief warning - there is mention of sexual abuse of a minor in this bit. It is only a mention, merely alluded to, but it is still there, so - kindly be warned. 
> 
> I also hasten to add that even though the tale does turn dark, it does not reflect any of my Mycroft's actual experiences as a child. It is all part of the fairy tale that these two marvellous beasts have woven together. 
> 
> Personally, I think that the culmination of this little tale is one of the hottest things I've written, so I'm very eager to know what all my lovely peeps think of it. Please do comment - let me know how I'm doing. It really does serve as incredible inspiration to know that my scribblins' are appreciated.
> 
> Thank you!! *mwah*

Mycroft's bottom lip trembled before he bit down on it. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes as he tilted his head back, lifting the skirt. Gregory snarled sharply and Mycroft gasped as he felt his lace knickers being pulled down and off roughly, exposing the cock-cage completely. When he opened his eyes, he found himself actually cowering into the pillows at the look of almost genuine anger on Gregory's face.

" _What?_ What madness is this? What is this infernal - device? You would deny me my taste of your willing, needy flesh? You would deny yourself the pleasure of release?"

"Not I, Your Grace. I would deny you nothing. I would not dare..."  
   
Mycroft shut his mouth tight as Gregory lowered his head, sniffing at his imprisoned cock. It twitched under his scrutiny, and he made a little pleased sound in the back of his throat, sticking out his tongue and delicately lapping at the pre-come that was leaking out at a fairly steady rate. "Child. You are eager and so very desperate, I can tell from your taste. Why do you torture yourself so?"  
   
Mycroft shook his head. "Master Wolf..."  
   
"Wait. Is this..." Greg tapped a finger against the ring surrounding the base of his cock as he lifted his gaze to Mycroft's face. "It is. It's a lock. Red - are you - do you - belong to someone? Is not even your body something that you can freely offer to me? Is this how pets are kept in the human realm?" He scoffed gently. "And you men presume to call those that preside in the forest savages..."  
   
"I..." Mycroft trembled underneath him as Gregory tilted his head slightly. "I ran away." He turned his head in shame, but his eyes flew open as Gregory shifted above him, going back on his heels as he reached for his face, his fingers running along his cheekbones and up through his hair.  
   
Greg smiled down at him gently before tugging him up and into his embrace. Mycroft shuddered against his chest, tentatively wrapping his arms around his torso. "That's it, child. You tell Wolfie all about it. Was he cruel to you?"  
   
Mycroft smiled into his lover's flesh, wondering just how far they could take this game before it became too much for either of them. Even though it seemed poised to head down a darker path, Mycroft found that the weaving of this elaborate tale had quite swept him away, and he was eager to continue, to follow it to whatever end, even if it were an unpleasant one. He hunched into Gregory a bit further, rubbing his cheek against his delightful chest hair. His lover tightened his arms around him, and Mycroft sighed deeply.    
   
"Not as such, Master Wolf. Not for many years, anyway. I had become little more than a servant, something vaguely pleasant to look at in the background of much more important goings-on."  
   
Gregory's mouth turned down as he grasped Mycroft's shoulders, holding him away from the shelter of his body so he could look upon his face. "Explain." His frown deepened slightly as he gently caressed his captive, fingers roaming all over his head and face and chest. "If you can."  
   
And there it was - the out. Gregory was offering an opportunity for 'Red' to simply refuse to talk about it, for him to keep it somewhat light-hearted if that was what he wished. But no - he wanted to see how far it would go, to see how well he and Gregory worked together to weave this little fantasy together. Mycroft blinked rapidly, his posture turning in on itself. "I was given to him as a child of two years old. In the human world, that is quite young."  
   
"You were a mere pup." Gregory's eyes went a little cold. "To what purpose were you given to this man?"  
   
"As p-payment." Mycroft withdrew slightly, bringing his hands to his chest as he lowered his head. "He is a powerful man, Your Grace, and my parents were poor. They lived on his land, and found that they could not pay his fees for the privilege of doing so. They came to him to beg for mercy, and the only thing of value that they had was - well. Me." Mycroft ran the fingers of one hand over his head. "He liked the colour of my hair, called me pretty. My parents - they simply handed me over. After all, I had siblings - a sister and a brother, and they were old enough to work, to help Father and Mother around the cottage. I was nothing but an extra mouth to feed. Useless. But then, I suppose not, because he did forgive them their debt once I was in his possession."  
   
Mycroft's face twisted slightly. "I think that perhaps Mother protested somewhat, but I cannot be sure. My memories of my parents are very indistinct." He sighed and shivered as Gregory took his face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead before nuzzling behind his ear, licking at his jaw, attempting to comfort him after the manner of wolves. "For the first few years, it was wonderful. He fed me, kept me warm and clean, clothed me in the richest of fabrics. He kept me at his side nearly every moment of the day, petting me and telling me how lovely I was. I felt loved - cherished, even. At night, I would sleep in his room. He had a small pallet made up for me, and had it placed at the foot of his own bed."  
    
There was a sudden hush in the room as Mycroft swallowed uneasily. "Some time during my seventh year, we retired to his room as usual, but my little bed was no longer there. He told me that I had been growing too quickly to sleep on such a small pallet, and that his bed was surely large enough for the both of us. I did not think much of it, after all, I had been a constant at his side for four years - longer than I had been with my own parents. But that night was when the touching began."  
   
 _"Enough."_ Gregory's voice was little more than a deep growl, and Mycroft almost didn't recognise it as speech at first. "I have heard enough. You will lead me, Red. You will take me to this foul creature and I will slay him where he lies, on that bed of filth. I will carry his carcass back here to my forest, and my pets and I will feast upon his entrails. We will leave nothing behind but his bones, and you shall have his skull as a prize."

Mycroft gaped stupidly for a moment before shaking the sense back into his brain. He hesitantly reached up to caress one large furry ear, running his fingers through the hair at the back of Gregory's head. He tugged at him gently, bringing their foreheads together. "Oh, Master Wolf... You send my heart racing, kind sir. Never before has anyone even thought to come to my aid in such a manner. You flatter me, Your Grace." He smirked crookedly. "But it is not necessary. I would not be surprised if he lies dying even now."

Greg pulled away from Mycroft with a sharp gasp, cupping his face with both hands, his dark eyes shining with pleasure. " _Child_. Tell me what you have done."  
   
Mycroft laughed even as he blushed. "I knew that he was sending me to the old woman, not just to ease her illness temporarily, but to stay. As her nursemaid." He shuddered unpleasantly. "I had long since fallen out of his favour, though I believe my only transgression was growing too old to hold his interest any longer. Once more, I had become nothing but a useless mouth to feed."  
   
Gregory's fingers flexed in their hold. "Red. I will _not_ tolerate you saying these horrible things about yourself."  
   
Mycroft blinked at him, raising his arms to hold Gregory's hands to his face. "Thank you, Your Grace." He swallowed and cleared his throat. "Although it saddened me somewhat to be sent from his side; he was all that I had known for so long... But in a way, I was grateful. After all, what could a little old lady do to me? It was better than being sent down to the barracks, which was the fate of many of the others that had outgrown their usefulness. He could be unkind, even cruel, but the soldiers, well - they truly are brutes. There were many that coveted me; I would often hear remarks as I passed them in the halls, saying that I felt I was too good for them and that they would teach me a lesson or two once the old man finally threw me down into the pits with them. I think that he knew of this talk, and while I could no longer please him in bed, he did at least still hold me in some regard. I was his first, you see, and he still kept me close. But not so close that I could not go off on my own, to gather certain plants from the meadows, and in the shadows of the outskirts of your woods, dear Wolf."  
   
Gregory laughed with delight. "Oh, you clever little thing."  
   
Mycroft smiled tentatively in return. "Yes, Your Grace. He had perhaps made a mistake in teaching me how to read, and I spent many hours in his personal library, exploring the ideas therein. I found that I had an aptitude in working with nature, with the flowers and herbs that grew wild around his homestead. The medicinal uses of such plants, and their more - nefarious - side as well. I distilled the essence of some of the deadlier varieties, and before I was sent away, I emptied my vial into his favourite decanter of wine. He is - was - a rather heavy drinker, you see." Mycroft's gaze went a little distant. "I knew that after our farewell, which was rather effusive on his part, it wouldn't be long before he turned to the comfort of his drink. And it wouldn't be long after that before he would be convulsing on the floor of his dreadful bedchamber." His grey eyes returned to Gregory's face, shining with some amount of satisfaction. "I knew that it wouldn't take them long to figure out who had done it, so rather than taking the path around your forest to go to Grandmother, I decided to go through."  
   
Gregory tensed suddenly, his eyes filling with worry. "Child. Have you invited trouble to my forest? Will there be men here to search for you?"  
   
Mycroft hastened to comfort him, placing a hand over his heart. "I sincerely doubt it, Master Wolf. The man who held me and the soldiers that he had working for him are all foolish and cowardly." He lowered his eyes. "We in the outside world have heard some tales of your forest, Your Grace. They are fearsome stories indeed, and I do not think that any man would dare to face your wrath."  
   
"Aside from you, dear Red." Gregory relaxed as he tilted Mycroft's face up once again, smiling gently down at his captive.  
   
Mycroft blushed prettily. "I had heard the tales as well, and determined that perhaps being some beast's supper was preferable to the fate that no doubt awaited me at the hands of his soldiers. And yet, here I am in the beast's den, where he has treated me with nothing but kindness and consideration, and shown no little measure of the desire that he feels for me. It is a terrible thing indeed, to be held so gently in the Big Bad Wolf's arms..."  
   
Greg growled happily and chuckled low. "Watch yourself, Red. I may _yet_ devour you whole."  
   
"Considering the way you made me feel when you were consuming me earlier, I do not think I would begrudge you another taste, my dear Wolfie."

There was another low but satisfied growl as Gregory leant in to mouth at the marks on his neck, licking and nibbling delicately. Mycroft sighed, a breathy moan drifting out from somewhere deep in his chest. "And I will take that taste of you, morsel. But that device thwarts me, and I do not relish the taste of metal. How are we to set you free?"  
   
"Oh, but Master Wolf... I have clever fingers as well as a clever mind. Even though I was no longer his favoured one, he still kept my key on a chain around his neck. When we were making our farewells, I embraced my captor and was able to remove it without him being any the wiser." He smiled at Gregory's sharp bark of laughter. "It's in my basket, Your Grace."  
   
Gregory looked at him in surprise. "But if you had the key, why did you not remove the infernal thing the moment you were in my forest?"  
   
Mycroft shivered then, and Gregory once more pulled him into the shelter of his arms, placing his chin on the top of his head. "I - cannot say, Master Wolf. It has been a part of me for so very long that I take some measure in comfort just knowing that it is there. I knew that I was free to do as I wished, but every time I resolved to take it off and toss it away, I - I simply could not. I couldn't do it - not with my own hands." Mycroft rubbed against Gregory's chest, his fingers lightly tracing his ribcage. "I - I have been held for so long, been pampered and cared for... I am a weak creature, Your Grace. I believe that I need someone stronger than myself to be beholden to."  
   
"You would trade one master for another? That is foolishness, child."  
   
Mycroft let his touch travel around Gregory's torso and then down, reaching to pet and then tug at the tail lightly. Gregory yelped quietly, swiftly but gently biting down on one creamy shoulder, making Mycroft shiver deliciously. "Not if my new master was someone who would not disregard me. Someone strong and fierce and wild who was nevertheless beautiful and kind and gentle. Someone who sends the blood racing through my body, someone who makes me feel like my heart is simply going to burst from my chest. Someone with large dark eyes, sharp white teeth, and a truly wicked tongue." Mycroft ducked his head slightly and flickered his tongue against one dusky nipple, grinning as Gregory's body broke out in sudden gooseflesh and his lover gasped. "Someone who even now is making me feel like I am the centre of his entire world simply because of the way he is holding me in his arms."

"You would have me make you mine."

Mycroft twisted slightly, reaching down to the floor for his basket. He drew aside one corner of the red silk hankie that was serving as a liner and pulled out the chain, with the small key dangling from it. He gently extracted one of Gregory's hands from where it was absent-mindedly caressing him and slowly dropped it in the centre of his palm.

"I would, Your Grace. I wish to be yours. Completely. Freely."

"Oh, child..." Gregory's eyes shone as he pushed the delicate chain around on his palm with one finger. He tilted his head abruptly, his dark eyes narrowing. "Were you not eager to go to your Grandmother, Red? Not long ago, you were protesting the idea that I might hold you, and now you are insisting on being held. Is this just a whim for you? Am I but a passing fancy, perhaps something to hide behind if your master's soldiers come searching for you?" Mycroft shrank back slightly as the growl returned to Gregory's voice, not playful this time, but utterly sincere. "I will not be _used_ , child. The inhabitants of this forest take bonding very seriously. Tell me that this is not just a game to you. If you toy with my affections, and my pets find out about it, you would not be long for this world. Panther, in particular, would take great pleasure in slicing you into tiny little pieces and scattering you to the four winds." Gregory reached out to clasp Mycroft's chin, raising his face so he could search his eyes, snorting quietly when he saw how wide they were. He dropped his own gaze, releasing him and sitting back on his heels, continuing to fiddle with the chain half-heartedly. "Do you truly desire me, Red Riding Hood? Or am I merely a means to an end for you?"  
   
Mycroft swiftly came up on his knees, straddling Gregory's lap, pressing the whole of his torso to his lover's naked body. He took his face in his hands, laying fevered kisses everywhere he could reach. Gregory whimpered slightly, letting his captive take control, allowing him entrance to his mouth, snarling quietly as Mycroft's tongue and teeth worked at him insistently. "Feel me, Master Wolf. See me. Look into my eyes, feel the way my heart beats for you - wild, out of rhythm. That isn't fear, Your Grace - it is _desire_. Never in my life have I wanted anything as badly as I want you. I understand that I have given you reason to doubt me, but I assure you - I promise you - I do not mean to use you. Instead, I would ask that you use me. Take your pleasure from me, and in your taking of me, I would be pleasured in return. I would be yours, Master Wolf. And if I hurt you in any manner, I would happily allow your pets or any other creature in your forest to dispatch of me howsoever they wish. I would willingly walk into their waiting jaws, for the pain that they may cause me would in no way compare to the pain that I would already feel, knowing that I had caused you distress."  
   
Gregory huffed out a quiet moan as Mycroft's teeth bore down on his clavicle. "Red..."  
   
"Please, Master Wolf. I beg of you." He pressed in closer, rubbing their cheeks together as he put his lips to Gregory's ear. "I burn for you, Your Grace. I'm aching to be filled by you. Please, oh - please. Take me, Wolfie. Take all that I am and make me _yours_." Mycroft trembled in his lover's fierce grip, sighing with relief as he once more felt his body being lowered to the mattress. Gregory shuddered against him as he shifted downward in the bed, fumbling at the lock of the cock-cage. Once the device was removed, it was simply tossed to the side, temporarily forgotten. Both men moaned together as Mycroft's prick instantly filled out, still leaking copiously. Mycroft squirmed as Gregory's eyes raked over him, his pink tongue peeking out from between teeth and lips. "Take your taste, my love. Take me."  
   
Gregory's eyes fluttered as Mycroft's deep, rich honey-sweet voice washed over him. He bent down and, almost reverently, ran his nose from sternum to navel and then lower, letting his lover's stiff cock bob against the underside of his chin as he buried himself in his soft red pubic hair, inhaling deeply. He let his breath out with a low growl, grinning with delight as Mycroft stiffened and gasped audibly. At the first touch of Gregory's hot wet tongue on the head of his cock, Mycroft's back arched so suddenly and so stiffly that he nearly tumbled off the bed. With a quiet huff of laughter, Gregory gripped his captive's hips firmly and held him down, laving his tongue up and down and side to side, saliva dripping from his mouth as he abruptly hoisted Mycroft's legs over his shoulders. He dipped his nose behind his tight, heavy bollocks as he once more dove into his pet's arse, tongue nimbly breaching his entrance and thrusting into him languidly. Mycroft cried out, simultaneously clenching down hard and trying to open himself further, resulting in a full-body spasm that left him gasping for breath.

"W-wait..."

Gregory growled again as he came up for air, levelling a look at his pet that would have left him shrinking back, had he any control over his limbs. "What is it, Red?" His tone left Mycroft with no doubt that whatever he had to say better damn well be worth it.

"I - I'm not going to last, Your Grace. It's been so long - too long... I-it's too much, and yet - not enough." He took in a great draught of air and let it out slowly. "I want you inside me when it happens. Please. I need to feel you in me." Mycroft groped about in the bedclothes, coming up with the bottle of lube. He held it out, a visible tremor apparent in his hand. "Please. Oh, _please_."

Gregory blinked at him slowly before lowering his legs to the mattress. Mycroft instantly drew his knees apart and toward his chest, mindlessly biting at his lips as his lover took the bottle from his hand and popped the cap open. Greg drizzled the lube over his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it slightly. He reached down between Mycroft's legs and ran his fingers down the cleft of his arse, his middle finger neatly sliding into his damp hole. There was a small amount of resistance, after all, a tongue could only do so much - but Mycroft simply bore down on Greg's hand, writhing and squirming, his body accepting the intrusion and then welcoming it with a slight flexing of the inner muscle.

"More. Another - quickly, please!" Greg shook his head slightly, but complied, withdrawing only far enough to unfurl his index finger and slide it in next to its partner, rotating his wrist slowly as Mycroft's hole widened minutely. Mycroft threw back his head and circled his hips, panting quietly. "Enough. You. I need you."

Greg quirked an eyebrow. "Red - I do not wish to hurt you."

"You won't. I just - God - I need to feel you, I need to feel that stretch as you fill me up, dear Wolfie." Mycroft nearly sobbed with frustration. "Please..." Greg nodded, turning to place a kiss on the inside of one of his pet's creamy thighs. Mycroft took a moment to hastily stuff a pillow under his hips as Greg slicked up his cock, shuffling in a little closer as he placed the blunt tip at Mycroft's wet, pink hole. He pressed in slowly but steadily, his dark eyes fluttering in pleasure as he grasped Mycroft's legs under the knee and pushed them forward. His pet moaned loud and long as he slid inexorably into him, finally bottoming out, the concave flex of Greg's hips sitting flush against the curve of Mycroft's arse.

They both stilled for a long moment, simply staring at each other as their bodies adjusted. Mycroft shifted slightly, clenching down on Greg's throbbing cock, and they both groaned as he moved, sliding out about halfway and slowly thrusting back in. There was a small tremor in Mycroft's belly as Greg looked down on him, and he placed the flat of his hand on his stomach, just above the pubic bone, and pressed down gently as he moved within him again. Greg grinned sharply as he felt the motion of his cock inside his pet, and Mycroft circled his hips before wrapping one long leg around his waist and hoisting the other over his shoulder. With a small grunt, he tightened his limbs, pulling Gregory down on top of him.

Greg huffed out a quiet laugh, planting his hands on the mattress at either side of Mycroft's torso. He leant down to lick a long, wet stripe from collarbone to earlobe, and Mycroft tilted his head to the side, granting him access to the small, white-ish scars - his marks. Greg growled low as he nuzzled into them, his breath coming in short, hot pants as he started to move in earnest, fucking deep and strong into the willing body underneath his with swift, sharp thrusts of his hips. Mycroft trembled and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, striving to match his motion with small, undulating circles, his arse clenching down, internal muscles stroking Gregory's thick, hard length.

"Red, oh my lovely human child... You look so beautiful underneath me." Greg slid his arms underneath Mycroft's shoulders and started pulling him down into him as he continued to move. "Feel so good, so hot, oh, so tight..."

Mycroft cried out, the increased proximity of Gregory's body stimulating his over-sensitive cock as they thrashed together. "Wolfie - my dearest beast - so magnificent, so hard. Ohh... Not long, my love - oh, so close..."

Greg snarled low and deep, opening his mouth and setting his teeth into the marks on his pet's neck, shaking his head slightly. Mycroft gave a low cry, which swiftly increased in volume as his body shuddered and he came, his cock twitching and spurting between their bellies, making the slide of their flesh suddenly slicker and much, much warmer. Greg stopped moving for a moment, allowing Mycroft to collect himself before removing his mouth from the side of his neck. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't check to make sure his new teeth hadn't caused any additional damage, but it was a near thing. He shook his head to clear it slightly before withdrawing, tugging at Mycroft's hips wordlessly.

"Yes, oh yes..." Mycroft quickly rolled over, sticking his arse in the air as he went down on his elbows. Greg didn't hesitate, pausing only to insert a knee in between his pet's thighs to knock them open just a bit more. Mycroft shifted, dipped his spine, and waited. It was only a second or two before he was being filled again, in the most wonderful, perfect way, his lover's thick cock breaching him slowly but surely. He stuffed a pillow in his mouth and groaned into it as Greg moved behind him, alternating one long stroke with three or four swift, short ones, grasping his arse-cheeks hard with every thrust. Greg shifted, raising one leg to plant his foot on the mattress, bending slightly to grasp at his ribcage with one hand. The other hand came down between his shoulder-blades, shoving him even further into the mattress, and Mycroft shuddered with delight at being held down. He thrashed slightly, just to feel Gregory push him down even harder, just to entice him to thrust a little deeper.

And he did, oh... Snarling and growling, even snapping his teeth at the very air that dared to come between them, Gregory fucked him hard and sure and fast, his fingers leaving bruises on his pet's creamy skin. Mycroft's breath surged out of him on every stroke, and he whined quietly with every exhale. Even that small sound seemed to urge Gregory on, as his thrusts became impossibly faster, impossibly deeper, more vicious. Mycroft reached out to brace himself against the headboard and suddenly, Gregory stilled, letting out a strangled moan as his cock twitched deep inside and pulsed his release into him. Mycroft gasped, turning his senses inward, clenching down hard just to feel him jerk within him again. There was a smaller pulse, another jet of hot fluid, and Mycroft groaned with pleasure as Gregory pushed deeper into him. 

"Oh. Oh, _Gregory_... My love."

Greg growled again before chuckling low, his breath coming in short gasps. "Mine. You're all mine, now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfie gets yet another human pet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's turn! Yay!
> 
> I really, really did not expect to be posting again this week, but boy howdy, did this just run away from me. 5k+! Yikes... Anyhow, I did fib a bit on my last chapter note - there will be two more chapters following this in the "Red Saga". Then John's b-day scene. (Although I really should work on some of the rest of the series, hm?)
> 
> This bit is filthy, of course, but there is also some fluff, so I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> You do enjoy it, right? Right? Oh God, please tell me you enjoy it... :)  
> Please do let me know how I'm doing - love you all to bits.

Greg draped himself over Mycroft's back, idly scratching at his arms and biting down on his shoulder-blades as both of them struggled to contain their wildly careening heartbeats. Mycroft pushed himself back into his lover's body, grinding down on his softening cock with a quiet moan. Greg laughed and groaned at the same time, straightening slightly.

Mycroft pushed himself up, shaking his head. "No. Stay. Stay in me, Gregory. Please."

_"Hrm."_ Greg wrapped his left arm around his torso and pushed in as close as he could. "All right, pet. Roll with me." They slowly manoeuvred onto their right sides, wriggling into each other. "That's right. Now, knees up a bit..." Mycroft complied, and Greg tucked his legs up behind his, still clutching tight to his middle. He chuckled as Mycroft heaved out a wistful but deeply satisfied sigh. "You do realise that with as slick as you are right now, it's going to slip out on its own, yeah?"

"And I will mourn that moment terribly, my love. But for right now, I want you as close as possible."

"Only too happy to oblige, darling Red." Greg buried his nose into Mycroft's soft hair, the strands slowly relaxing into natural wavy curls as the sweat on his head dried. He hummed contentedly, casually nuzzling and licking and nibbling in the warmth of their shared afterglow.

Mycroft sighed again. "You are a remarkable creature, Gregory Lestrade."

Greg squeezed him gently. "How's that, pet?"

"The tale you wove..."

"We, sweetheart. We did it together."

"Well, yes, but you set it up so beautifully, with the way you began, by hunting me through the forest. Never before have I been so swiftly carried away by the fantasy of it all."

Mycroft could almost hear Gregory frowning behind him. "But isn't that the whole point?"

Greg tightened his hold as his pet giggled. "Well, yes, but all too often one, or more, of the participants can be a little too eager to reach the conclusion of the tale, so things are rarely played out to that extent. You were remarkably patient and level-headed throughout it all. You - you exceeded my expectations, my love." Mycroft twisted his head, looking back at him fondly, if a bit awkwardly. "But then, you often do."

Greg grinned down at him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He moved the hand that was tucked around Mycroft's middle in slow, small circles, smiling as his pet writhed against him. After a few moments of languid petting, with Mycroft humming quietly along to the steady motion of his lover's hand, Greg's stomach chose to make itself known with a rather loud grumble.

Mycroft gasped in startled shock and started to giggle madly as Greg cursed under his breath. "Oh, my love - that was astonishing! I could feel it, actually _feel_ it rumbling in the small of my back... It seems that your stomach is just as wild as the rest of you!" He gasped again as his little giggle fit shook Gregory's limp cock from his arse, and looked back at him with a little moue of disappointment on his lips.

Greg shook his head, fighting back giggles of his own at the look on his pet's face. "Not my fault, silly thing. You're just too wiggly." He rolled his eyes as his stomach grumbled again, releasing Mycroft and leaning back slightly to poke at his own belly. "You - shut it. You just _ruined_ a lovely quiet moment, I'll have you know." Mycroft's eyebrows rose exponentially as Gregory's stomach growled back at him. "No, seriously, shut up. Always mouthing off at me... I shouldn't feed you at all, see what you have to say then..." A sullen silence, as Mycroft simply gaped at his lover, who was once more prodding at his belly. "That's right, I'll hear no more nonsense out of you."

"Gregory..." Mycroft's voice was hushed. "Do you often carry on conversations with various parts of your anatomy?"

Greg blinked at him innocently. "'Course I do. Only two bits ever seem to give me lip back, though. My bloody, greedy, black hole pit of a stomach..." He poked himself viciously as it rumbled uneasily once again. "And my - well, I'm sure you know which other part may have a bit of an attitude..."

Mycroft swiftly turned in his lover's arms, pressing their bodies together hard. "Kiss me, you impossibly ridiculous, mad, beautiful man." He laughed as Gregory eagerly complied. "You are utterly silly and completely wonderful and dear Lord do I love every preposterous bit of you."

"Mm. Love you too, pet." Gregory pouted as Mycroft twisted away from him, going down on his belly as he groped for something on the floor. He grinned in triumph as he held his little white basket aloft, and giggled as Gregory's eyes widened. "Oh, your biscuits! I'd forgotten all about them."

"We're going to need some milk. They are rather rich."

Greg's bottom lip protruded a bit more as Mycroft wriggled completely out of his grip. "If we even have any. For all of the posturing your daft brother does about not clogging up the 'transport' and whatnot, he consumes an awful lot of the stuff."

"Well, then the advertising isn't entirely false, is it?" Mycroft smirked as Gregory quirked an eyebrow. "It certainly does do a body good."

Greg felt his mouth drop open and he just let it flop around a bit, unhinged. "Mycroft - did - did you just make a naughty joke about your brother?" His pet blushed adorably and bit his lip as he nodded silently. "Oh, such a dirty boy you are... Well _done_ , my love."

Mycroft blushed even more ferociously and gave Greg a peck on the cheek before sliding out of bed and snatching up his knickers from where Wolfie had tossed them. He slipped them onto his stockinged legs and shimmied them up under his skirt before opening the wardrobe and reaching for his dressing gown.

"I'll just be a moment, my dear. When I return, we'll see about appeasing that tyrant stomach of yours."

Greg pushed himself up on his elbow and licked his lips. "Don't you want to wash up a bit first? You're gonna make a mess of those lovely knickers, pet."

Mycroft went just about as red as his hair. "That is entirely the point, Gregory. I want to feel your seed sliding and dripping out of me, soiling these ridiculous pants. And when they are completely disgusting, I want you to peel them off me, to see how utterly you defiled me, how you marked me so thoroughly that no other man could possibly lay claim to me. After we've both marvelled at what a beast you are, I'm going to save the blasted things as a memento of this evening, because that is what you do to me, Gregory. You take me outside of my head, and turn me into something quite visceral, a wanton creature of nothing but lust and need."  
   
Greg tumbled off the bed and crashed into Mycroft just as he was reaching for the doorknob, driving him back against the wall. He clutched his lover hard to him, hot breath shuddering out over his neck, his thick cock twitching against the inside of his thigh. "You are absolutely filthy, utterly disgusting and completely divine. Jesus fucking Christ, pet." Mycroft shivered as Gregory once more laid his teeth into his marks, biting down firmly but gently. "I _adore_ you. Sweet Lord above, you..."  
   
"I know, my love. And I, you." Mycroft squirmed against him before gently pushing him away. "Don't distract me any further, you animal. I'll not have your attention divided between me and your complaining tummy. I will be back shortly, and we'll have a little snack and then we can thoroughly degrade one another all over again. Is that acceptable, Master Wolf?"  
   
 _"Ungh."_  
   
"I'll count that as a victory, then. Away with you." Greg reluctantly released him and stepped back, lowering his head and looking at him from underneath his lashes. "That is entirely unfair, Gregory. You're unbearably sexy even when you're pouting, for God's sake. I swear to you, I will only be a moment..."  
   
Greg turned with a flounce, grinning as the tail that he was still wearing whipped around his thighs briefly. "Fine. I'll just be here in my den, pining away for my Red."  
   
Mycroft snorted as he passed through the door. "That's the spirit, my love."  
   
He took a moment as he shut the door to lean against it briefly, willing his body to calm itself. Good God, the things that man _did_ to him... With a quiet sigh, Mycroft tripped lightly down the stairs in his stocking-feet, heading for the kitchen. It only took him a moment to locate the carton of milk, and he scrutinised the date before opening it and sniffing delicately. It certainly didn't _seem_ to be poisoned... Mycroft turned toward the cabinet, one hand on the open door of the fridge, and jumped slightly as John suddenly hove into view.  
   
"Hullo, My. Whatcha doing?"  
   
Mycroft tilted his head as he looked the smaller man over. He was clad only in his loose pyjamas, his tawny hair ruffled rather adorably. It seemed that he had been roused from his bed - apparently Mycroft wasn't as noiseless as he believed himself to be. "Oh. Um. Hello, John. Just getting some milk." He closed the fridge door with a snap.  
   
"Right. This, I can see. Why?"  
   
"For the biscuits that I brought."  
   
John's mouth twisted with interest as one eyebrow quirked. "And did you happen to make these biscuits yourself?"  
   
"Yes, of course."  
   
John nodded his head slowly. "All right. So you can bake as well as cook and you didn't think to bring any to share?"  
   
Mycroft blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Oh, but I did. I didn't exactly have time to unpack everything, though, did I? I just didn't think to bring them down with me, unfortunately. I was a trifle distracted, you understand."  
   
"Oh, is that right?"  
   
Mycroft shivered slightly as John's eyes travelled the length of his body. " _Mm_. I can go fetch them for you." He paused, licking his lips. "Or perhaps you'd like to come up?"  
   
"I think..." John's eyes narrowed slightly before he moved in a little closer and twitched one flap of Mycroft's dressing gown to the side. "I think that you're wearing thigh-high stockings, and I think I'd like to know why." He tugged at the ties of Mycroft's dressing gown with a rough jerk, his nose wrinkling in concentration. Mycroft turned aside to put the carton of milk down on the table before holding his robe open, revealing himself to the good doctor. He giggled quietly as John's slate-blue eyes went wide, his pupils slowly expanding. "Little red bows, my God. And a skirt. If you can even call that frippery nonsense a skirt... Good fucking Lord, you have to tell me what you two have been doing up there." Mycroft opened his mouth, but John suddenly held up a hand. "Wait. These biscuits of yours. Would they be tucked away in a little basket, by chance?"  
   
"They just may..."  
   
"And would you happen to have some kind of cloak as well? With a red hood, perhaps?"  
   
"Very good, John."  
   
Mycroft blushed as John smiled sharply. "And Gregory - he would be the wolf, yes?"  
   
"Oh, yes. Very big, and oh - so _very_ bad."  
   
John staggered slightly, prompting Mycroft to swiftly hold out a hand to offer him support. "Ears?" Mycroft nodded silently, his cool grey eyes sparkling. When John next spoke, his voice was nothing but a hoarse croak. _"Tail?"_  
   
"Indeed." Mycroft leant into him slightly, one manicured brow elevating. "And lovely sharp white teeth, provided by my surprisingly thoughtful brother."  
   
John turned just long enough to snag a glass from the nearest cupboard and nodded curtly at the carton of milk before grabbing at Mycroft's free hand and tugging him in the direction of the attic stairs. Mycroft's stomach swooped with desire even as he found himself giggling madly, and John paused halfway up the staircase to lean down and give him a peck on the cheek, his own eyes sparkling with humour and no small measure of lust.  
   
"Shh, sweetheart. We mustn't tip the Big Bad Wolf off that we're encroaching on his lair..."  
   
Mycroft attempted to hold back, but couldn't prevent a small snort from escaping before he managed to pull himself back together. He nodded slightly, and took the lead, opening the door quietly. Gregory was curled up in the centre of the bed, his back to the door as he idly stroked the silver tip of the tail against his thigh. Mycroft gestured to John, and closed the door behind him, swiftly rescuing the glass that he held in an increasingly limp grip, as it seemed that he may simply drop it where he stood. He placed both the glass and the milk on the desk with an audible noise, and Greg glanced over his shoulder.  
   
With a quiet yelp, he swiftly rolled over the mattress and dropped to the floor on the other side of the bed with a solid thump. After a moment, he peeked over the edge, eyeing John distrustfully. Mycroft grinned as Greg dropped him a sly wink. "Red - what is _this_? What have you done?"  
   
"I do apologise, Master Wolf. It seems that I was followed. Yet another curious human has entered your forest and wandered your paths. I am certain that he would not have made it as far as he did had you not been distracted by me, Your Grace." John shot him a bewildered look, but Mycroft ignored him, his head bowed in disgrace. "Will I be punished for my transgression?"   
   
Greg sniffed as he came up in a crouch, planting his hands on the mattress. "Perhaps. I suppose that depends on why he is here." He tilted his head. "He isn't one of your master's soldiers, is he, child?"  
   
"No, Your Grace." Mycroft smirked slightly as he paced around John in a slow circle. "He is in no way the physical specimen that my master preferred to have guard him. He liked them big and broad, with large meaty hands and small beady eyes. Dull and stupid." He stopped at his back and placed his hands on John's shoulders. "This - this is a warrior, Master Wolf. Small, but strong and swift." Mycroft slid his hands down, wrapping them around John's biceps and squeezing gently. He shivered as John flexed his arms, his muscles tensing and releasing under his grip. "Oh, yes - strong indeed."  
   
Greg brought one knee up to the mattress, letting his tongue loll out between his teeth as he began to crawl across the bed. "Show me, Red."  
   
Mycroft leant down to the smaller man's ear. "John?" Without taking his eyes off the man slowly advancing toward him, John nodded slowly, almost as if lost in a dream. Mycroft lowered his hands to grasp at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and off, letting it drop to the floor before raking his long fingers through John's tawny hair, smoothing it down somewhat. John shivered at the touch, and gasped as gooseflesh popped up on his arms.  
   
Greg growled low. "More." He hunched down low on his knees and elbows, his dark eyes raking over John's body as Mycroft slowly ran his fingers in between the waistbands of his pyjama bottoms and his pants, pulling the bottoms down, letting them simply pool at John's feet. Wolfie snarled. "All of it, Red. Stop teasing me."  
   
 _"Oh."_ John's chest hitched with the quiet exclamation, and Mycroft chuckled as he slipped his fingers underneath the elastic of his pants.  
   
"I had much the same reaction," he murmured. Then he swallowed as he crouched, tugging John's pants down as he went. He studiously avoided looking at the pert and no doubt rather firm bottom that was hovering mere centimetres from the tip of his nose, as it was still forbidden territory. Mycroft shivered, his hands briefly closing around John's calves for support. He shouldn't be this close, he shouldn't be touching John at all. Not like this. Sherlock's permissions were for next weekend, not tonight. The firm muscles under his hands flexed again, and Mycroft's vision went a little swimmy. This wasn't allowed, God, he really, really shouldn't be doing this... He regained his feet slowly, eyes half-closed against the temptation of the tight, golden body standing proudly nude in front of him. Mycroft took a small step back before placing his hands on John's shoulders once again, close to the column of his neck, the cords standing out slightly as the smaller man swayed under the force of Greg's stare.  
   
"Oh, yes, child. This one - he certainly _is_ strong, isn't he? Much like my lovely Bobcat. Compact, coiled and ready to spring..." Greg shuffled a little closer to the edge of the bed, spreading his knees and settling back on his heels. He held out one hand, beckoning. "Bring him here. Come, human warrior. Come to me." John moved forward in a sort of a daze, his feet dragging and nearly catching in his discarded clothing as he moved. He kicked the pile away without looking and reached out to place a hand into Greg's waiting grasp. He was pulled in close before he could even blink, and another soft exclamation was pushed from his throat.  
   
Mycroft stepped to the side as Gregory tucked his face into the side of John's neck, torn between his desire to please both of the men before him, and his desire not to betray his brother's trust. No, not desire. Need. He needed to prove to Sherlock that he could be trusted without any reservations. Mycroft shook his head slightly, realising that he also needed to prove to himself that he still held some measure of self-control. He took another step back, once more wrapping his dressing gown around him and tying it tight.

Gregory paused in his scenting of John's throat to cast him a sideways glance, his lips curling into a smirk. Mycroft shuddered and closed his eyes, but couldn't prevent them from flying open again as his lover growled low. "Red. I do believe that you're holding out on me." Greg caressed John as he directed his remarks at Mycroft, casually petting the smaller man as he continued to waver toward him. "This hapless morsel did not simply follow you, did he? No, you're much too clever for him to have escaped your notice. You _lured_ him, did you not?"  
   
Mycroft blushed and lowered his gaze to the floor. "I... Yes, Your Grace."  
   
Greg chuckled, his grin sharpening as John gasped. "As I thought. And although your first thought was to bring him to me, as a bonding gift, you now find him to be rather pleasing to your own senses as well, yes?"  
   
"Very much so."  
   
"Did you tease him as you did me? Did you go down on your knees to him, my darling human child?"  
   
Mycroft snapped his eyes back to Gregory's face, shaking his head curtly. "No, Your Grace. I would not dare. That is your privilege alone, my love."  
   
"Hm." Greg quirked an eyebrow, glancing to John, who was still swaying, eyes half-closed in languorous ecstasy as his lover's hands travelled over his body, stroking him, caressing him. "So you trapped him by other means, then. Perhaps a glimpse of those absurd stockings? A peek under that flimsy skirt?" Mycroft's blush deepened and Gregory laughed outright. "Well. I think it's only fair that he should see the rest of you, dear Red. Strip. Leave the - well - you know..." John suddenly snapped back into himself, his head turning slowly to watch and his body following as Mycroft fumbled with the ties of his robe. Greg slipped off the bed and stood at his back, pulling him in tight. He let out a deep, rumbling sigh as he pressed his stiff cock into the curve of John's arse, and his lover's head dropped forward as his body shuddered. Greg took the opportunity to nose along his hairline to behind his ear, breathing him in heavily.  
   
"John..." Greg murmured into his ear, both of the men watching as Mycroft lifted one long leg to rest on the seat of the desk chair, quickly shedding his fingerless gloves before slowly peeling the stockings off bit by tortuous bit. "I didn't mean to reject you, my love."  
   
John's breath hitched quietly. "I know, Greg. I know. I was a little surprised to find that it had affected me to that degree. It isn't your fault. Yours or Mycroft's."  
   
"But I would still like to make it up to you." He chuckled low and deep. "In truth, I was very nearly _ordered_ to do so. How, John? Tell me how to make it better." Greg let one hand drift slowly down the front of John's body, humming low as he palmed his leaking erection.  
   
John hissed out a sharp breath, his back arching, thrusting his hips into Greg's touch. "Fuck me. I want you to just toss me down and have your way with me, Wolfie."

Greg reached down a little lower, cupping John's heavy bollocks before giving them a firm squeeze. "I'm not _that_ brutal, human." He ducked down and reached for the lube that had somehow wound up on the floor, slicking up his fingers and sliding them into the cleft of John's firm arse. He wrapped his free arm around John's torso, and smiled into the scarred flesh of his left shoulder as his lover gasped and spread his legs, leaning forward into his hold, counting on Greg's strength to keep them both upright. Greg swirled his fingers down below, stroking and teasing as he dipped one fingertip in shallowly and then withdrew in a steady rhythm, probing gently until John grunted quietly and pushed back into him. Greg mouthed at the nape of his neck, growling quietly as he let his middle finger slide all the way in. John's body shuddered against him, and he gave voice to a small moan.

Mycroft had paused, one leg bare and the other nearly so, still propped up on the desk chair. He was staring at them now, eyes wide and dark, his chest rising and falling at an increasingly rapid rate. Greg snarled and snapped his teeth at him, and Mycroft shook his head as if to clear it, whipping off the rest of the stocking without delay. John eyed him hungrily as he circled his hips into Greg's hand. "The rest of it, Red. Take off that ridiculous skirt." Greg laughed quietly as the tone of command in John's voice made Mycroft shudder where he stood. His pet hesitated, and Greg gave him a little nod, so Mycroft took hold of the elastic waistband in both hands and stretched it out and pulled it down, letting it simply float to the ground where he stood. Greg watched the back of John's head as it dipped to follow the motion, and then the tight body tucked into his suddenly stilled completely. He stopped thrusting his fingers into John's arse and withdrew, feeling in the sudden tension in the body clamped around his hand that some action on his part was certainly imminent.  

What he did not expect, however, was for John to slide neatly onto his hands and knees and start to crawl over to Mycroft's feet. His pet stared at him in startled bewilderment as John advanced on him, but Greg just grinned and nodded his head with a tiny shrug. Mycroft swiftly reached out with one hand to support himself against the corner of the desk, his knees visibly trembling as John stopped before him, crouching down low. He played with the fluttery fabric that was draped over Mycroft's feet briefly before tugging at it impatiently. John glanced upward, his dark blue eyes tripping over the significant erection that was barely being contained by Mycroft's red lace knickers. He shook his head, mumbling quietly to himself, but of course the man standing above him heard him clearly. "One thing at a time, soldier." Mycroft blinked rapidly down at him before John raised his voice. "Show me, Red. I need to _see_." With a little quirk of his eyebrow, Mycroft drew his feet out of the protective pile of clothing, pushing his shed stockings and skirt to the side before placing one foot into John's waiting hands.

He shivered and clutched at the desk a little harder as John hummed to himself, his small but strong fingers stroking around his ankle and along the instep in a steady pattern. Mycroft gasped and shuddered as John ducked his head just a bit lower, running his nose along the cleft between his big toe and the next, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his foot. He felt John's fingers gliding over his toenails, his soft warm breath ghosting over his skin. He let out a surprised gasp that swiftly transitioned into a moan as John simply sucked his toes into his mouth one by one, lavishing attention on them with teeth and tongue.

Greg crossed over to them, leaning in to nip at Mycroft's slack jaw before going down on his knees next to John. He reached between his exposed arse-cheeks, once again sliding in one finger and then another, slowly moving in and out as he rotated his wrist. " _John_. John, my darling, my love... When did feet become a thing for you?"

John let out a muffled grunt, his mouth still full of long, wriggly toes, squirming back into Greg's hand. He reluctantly released Mycroft's foot and placed it back on the floor, reaching for the other. Mycroft lifted it and thrust it forward without hesitation, causing both of the men on the floor to chuckle softly. "Right this moment, I suppose. Just look at them, Greg. So red and shiny and sparkly and...red. So red." He caressed Mycroft's instep before kissing it. "So elegant and lovely. Your pet is beautiful, my love. Every bit of him."

"Oh, I'll not debate you on that. I quite agree." Greg smiled up at Mycroft, who was obviously barely holding it together as John worked at his toes quite relentlessly. "However, I cannot have you getting off on his feet, of all things. Not tonight." John groaned as Greg twisted his wrist again and pushed down firmly. "Hopefully you aren't so far gone as to realise that none of this is really sanctioned by our other partner, my love. Watching and minimal touching - that's been approved. Not full-on sucking of various body parts. Even if they aren't the particularly naughty bits..."

"Shit _and_ damn. Bugger and _blast_ as well." John let Mycroft's big toe slide out of his mouth and gently placed his foot back down, leaning in to lay small kisses along the top. "No, you're right. I do believe that I'm getting a little carried away..." He grunted again and pushed back against his lover even harder. "C'mon, Wolfie. I need a good, solid fuck. Take me. Now." Mycroft moaned and collapsed against the front of the wardrobe as Greg laughed and growled at the same time.

"Up, you impertinent creature." He grasped John by the elbow and helped him to his feet before whirling him around and pressing him up against the bed. "On your back, arse on the edge here. Scoot just a bit - there. Oh, _yes_. In't that just the loveliest of sights..." Greg paused to hold John's legs open, teasing him with the head of his cock, sliding up and down against him slowly. John giggled, reaching down to grasp at the edge of the mattress with both hands. He kept his knees open and tucked up toward his chest as Greg reached for the lube once again. Greg glanced aside to where Mycroft was still leaning up against the wardrobe, his face a little ashen. He grinned as he slicked himself up, and nodded to the opposite side of the bed. "Come into my den, child. Settle yourself down for the show. Come - I'm a little concerned you may just fall where you stand, and I would prefer not to have to interrupt my tumbling just to tend to you."

Mycroft blushed and pushed himself upright, shakily clambering up into the bed and settling down against the headboard. He pulled his legs into his chest, locking his hands around his shins. John looked sideways and up, grinning as Mycroft wiggled his toes at him provocatively.

Greg snapped his teeth impatiently. "Stop that, Red. Don't tease him." He growled down at John, who looked back to him in surprise. "And you - you're here for _my_ pleasure, not his." He lined himself up and simply shoved his way in, yanking down on John's hips roughly. He snarled again at John's loud gasp, his back arching stiffly. Greg swiftly set up a rather punishing pace, wrapping his hands around John's upper thighs, pulling him down with every one of his hard upward strokes. He grinned sharply as John wrapped his legs around him loosely, his heels bouncing against his arse with every thrust.

Mycroft hunched forward slightly, digging his teeth into one of the knees that was crushed to his chest. Good God, this man... He closed his eyes briefly, just listening to the sounds of their union, Gregory's low grunts and growls blending with John's quiet exclamations of _'yes'_ , _'oh fuck, fuck me love'_ , their lustful symphony interspersed with the heady noises of flesh slapping against flesh. His cock twitched hard, and he tensed the muscles in his thighs tightly, hoping to contain it somewhat. God, he almost thought that he could come just by listening to these two beautiful men going at it; come hard, too - without any friction at all. Mycroft opened his eyes again to take in Gregory's face, those sharp white teeth showing in a fierce grimace, sweat beginning to trickle along the side of his neck, down into his lovely chest hair. His eyes dropped to John, his head thrown back, eyelids half-closed as his body was jolted ferociously, the muscles in his arms tense as he struggled to maintain his hold on the bed. His mouth moved constantly, nearly silent pleas and encouragements slipping from between trembling lips.

John suddenly thrashed under Greg's harsh grip, his back arching hard, only his shoulders making contact with the mattress as he angled his hips downward. Greg grinned and snarled loudly, shifting his legs apart a bit and pushing upward. He grunted as John cried out, huffing out laughter between sharp gasps for breath. "Oh, there it is... Yes, little warrior. I don't think - no. No, I'll not touch you." He slammed into him several more times. "No, either you'll come by your own hand, or you'll come just like this."

John moaned with a sharp gasp. "Like this - yes, God yes. Just a little...bit... Oh _yes_ , yes - yesyesyessss... _Fuck_!" Mycroft groaned in empathy as John's eyes rolled back in his head, all of the muscles in his body tensing and clenching down hard as his cock jumped unaided, spurting and painting hot white stripes across his golden belly. There was another smaller splash, and then one more, as Greg continued to thrust into him steadily. After the second little aftershock, John hissed in discomfort and Greg pulled out abruptly, taking himself in hand. It only took a few hard, swift pulls before he reached his orgasm as well, falling forward slightly and bracing his free hand against the mattress as he unloaded on John's belly, adding to the mess that was already cooling there.

Greg hummed in between gathering his breath, swirling his fingers through their combined release. With one last quiet snarl, he bent down and licked it all up, swallowing some and gathering the rest on his tongue. John giggled, but sedately tilted his head back, opening up as Greg hovered over him, allowing him to dribble it into his own mouth and over his chin. John swallowed, and Greg shuddered with mindless pleasure as he pushed their mouths together, both of them licking and nipping at each other as they kissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to see Mycroft get off, and maybe even assists. (Just a little...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this, only one - I swear! It seems that the more I let myself go, the more I'm writing, and particular bits just seem eternal... 
> 
> Anyhoo - please comment, feed my muse!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!

"Oh my God." Mycroft groaned, holding himself in impossibly tighter. "Good fucking God. You two. _God_. Oh God." He shook himself as Greg laughed and John's body vibrated with silent giggles. "God God oh my _God_." He started to straighten his legs out, sucking in a quick breath as his cock jumped hard, celebrating its sudden liberation from being trapped between belly and thigh. He turned, intending to climb down and fetch a flannel.  
   
"No, pet, just stay there. I'll get it." Mycroft simply stared as Greg ducked around the bed, heading into the toilet.  
   
John stretched languidly, pulling himself up to rest against the headboard, leaving a respectable amount of distance in the bed between them. He winked at Mycroft as he scratched at the little bit of mess that Greg had left behind, both on his belly and his chin. Mycroft continued to stare, wide-eyed and trembling as John grinned wickedly. "Can't _wait_ till next weekend. How about you, sweetheart?"  
    
 _"Nghk."_  
   
Greg came back bearing damp flannels, completely bereft of his 'Wolfie' garb. He rolled his eyes as his lovers moaned in disappointment, sad little pouts on both of their faces. "Oh, come on... You're gonna make me feel like a useless shell of a man if you only want me as the Big Bad Wolf." He grinned over at where Mycroft was fighting to hold himself utterly still. "Besides, I need to feel you in my mouth, darling Red. Been _dying_ to suck on you all night, but those teeth were putting me off. Didn't want to scratch you all up." He began to wipe John down, starting with his chin and working his way down slowly, grinning as Mycroft whimpered. Once John was clean, his damp skin glistening in the light, Greg nodded at his pet. "Come over here, love."  
   
Mycroft looked over at John's naked body with clear desire in his eyes, shaking his head as he kept his arse firmly affixed to the mattress. "Not allowed, Gregory. I - I cannot..."  
   
John hummed and tugged at the tangled bedsheet, draping and bunching it over himself strategically, ensuring that no unauthorised contact would occur. "Is that better, sweetheart?"  
   
 _"Oh!"_ Mycroft quickly moved to straddle John's lower legs, going to his hands and knees. He blushed as Greg laughed quietly, but John just reached out to pull him in a little closer. He touched their foreheads together, gently running his hands through his soft red hair. Mycroft sighed happily, and John blinked as his warm breath washed over his face. "Much. Oh, thank you, John."

John hummed and slid a little lower in the bed, coaxing Mycroft down onto his elbows, kissing either cheek before gently pressing a kiss to his lips. Mycroft gasped and moaned, tentatively licking his way into John's mouth, tasting the mixed release that he and Greg had shared not long ago. "Oh Lord, the two of you together..."

John giggled quietly as Greg joined them on the bed, kneeling behind Mycroft. At the touch of his lover's hands on the waistband of his lace knickers, Mycroft's body jerked hard. John tightened his hold on Mycroft's head and shrank back into the pillows slightly, neatly avoiding what would have been a rather painful forehead collision.

Greg laughed again. "Well done, love." He hummed as he slowly ran his broad fingers underneath the lace, trying to be as gentle as possible as he worked the fabric free from where it had stuck to Mycroft's creamy skin. He winced as his pet squirmed, occasionally hissing in a short breath as Greg picked away at some of the stickier patches. Finally, it seemed that most of it had been worked loose, so he slowly wiggled the knickers down to mid-thigh, exposing his pet's well-used and nicely pink, although somewhat patchy, arse.

Greg groaned and growled before bending down to kiss both cheeks. "You are a right mess back here, my love. Utterly filthy." He cupped both of his hands over Mycroft's arse-cheeks and squeezed, gently prying the two halves apart. Greg moaned quietly as Mycroft's arsehole twitched under his scrutiny, a tiny dribble of come oozing out oh-so-slowly. "Oh, so gorgeous... So perfect. _Mm_..."

His pet dropped his face into John's sheet-covered chest briefly, moaning lustily as he looked at him over his shoulder. "You, Gregory. You did that to me, you awful, horrible, wonderful beast." Mycroft squirmed some more as Greg laid a cool, damp cloth over one cheek, just holding it there for a moment before beginning to massage the flannel over the crusty, sticky bits left behind. He rubbed slowly, thoroughly wiping away his dried mess, with John winking at him over Mycroft's shuddering back.

Greg grinned back at him, letting his tongue wriggle out over his bottom lip as he switched the flannel to the other cheek. He bent down to press light, open-mouthed kisses to clean, damp flesh, humming quietly as Mycroft let out a tiny whimpering sigh. He turned his attentions to the other cheek as he gently scrubbed at the crack of his pet's arse, wincing at the small hisses of displeasure that Mycroft was attempting to muffle by biting into John's makeshift toga. Greg hummed again as he dropped the now-filthy cloth over the side of the bed, taking hold of firm flesh with both hands and squeezing hard.

He leant in and nosed at his heavy bollocks, already pulled up promisingly tight, before spreading his pet's arse open wide and fluttering just the tip of his tongue against his hole. Mycroft positively yelped, his body shuddering violently as John held his head to his chest. John sighed as he caressed him, running his fingers through his hair and down his neck, over and across his lovely freckled shoulders.

"For fuck's sake, Gregory. You are such a  _vile_ tease. Put the poor man out of his misery, already."

Greg ignored him, continuing to lavish light, gentle touches with tongue and teeth and lips, sucking at his pink, puffy hole. He withdrew slightly, licking his lips. "Oh, pet. I can taste me in you. I came nice and deep, didn't I? Marked you all up, inside and out." Mycroft nodded silently, pressing his face hard into John's middle as his body spasmed, causing his spine to dip and inadvertently shoving his arse right back into Greg's face. His lover laughed lasciviously before rewarding him with a long, wet, hot lick. " _Mine_ , pet. All mine."

"Gre-oh. _Gregory_. Yes. Y-yours. All yours. Oh, please."

"Hm." Greg's eyes sparkled as he started to lean back in, but he let out a startled snarl as John kicked at his knee, none-too-gently. John glowered at him silently, his most effective _I-am-the-Captain-here-you-will-do-as-you-are-told-or-so-help-me_ glare making Greg wilt slightly. Mycroft was somewhat beyond awareness now, and John cradled his head to him protectively as he emphasised his commanding scowl with an elevated brow, his mouth nothing but a thin, hard line.

Greg sighed deeply and took hold of Mycroft's hips, shaking him gently in an attempt to recapture his attention. "All right, pet. I need you in my mouth. Flip over for me, love." Mycroft simply went boneless, collapsing onto his back at John's side, his arms flopping away from his body. Greg took in the slightly disappointed look on John's face and smirked as he reached out to tug the thoroughly soiled knickers off of Mycroft's legs completely, tossing them over his shoulder nonchalantly. "No, over here... We'll use our good doctor as a bit of a human cushion, yeah?"

Mycroft blushed beautifully as John spread his legs under the sheet a bit wider, propping himself up on the pillows as he held his arms out. He hummed contentedly as Mycroft settled down on his back between his legs, his head once more pillowed on his tight but surprisingly comfortable stomach. Mycroft sighed as small, strong fingers began to work their way through his hair again. "Oh, thank you, John."

"I assure you, it's entirely my pleasure, sweetheart." Mycroft giggled unabashedly as John tilted his hips underneath him, pushing his semi-hard length against his spine under the protection of the sheet. John grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, taking in the laughter with relish, little ripples of pleasure travelling through Mycroft's body and into his. John shivered when the giggles abruptly came to a halt as Greg came up on his knees to look down at the both of them, nothing but hunger and lust in his dark eyes. John gasped as Mycroft shuddered against him. "Fuck, he's _beautiful_. He looks absolutely wild." John squeezed Mycroft's shoulders. "You did well to cast him as the Big Bad Wolf, My."

John felt Mycroft swallow hard as Greg took firm hold of his knees and slowly spread them wide. "Oh, but he's always been the wolf, John. Strong, _mm_ \- fierce." Greg ducked down low, settling onto his belly, and the red-haired man gasped as he tilted his head back against John's chest. "Feral, predatory, oh yes..." Gregory growled low as he sucked on his pet's bollocks, drawing one heavy lump of flesh into his mouth, catching the loose skin in his teeth gently as he let it slip from his lips. Mycroft writhed against John, one hand clutching at his thigh as the other tangled in Gregory's silver hair. "Sa-savage, yes yes, oh  _yesss_. Loyal and pr-protective. A f-force of nature, oh _God_."

John ran his fingers lightly down Mycroft's arm, and he abruptly reached up to clasp their hands together as Gregory slid one finger deep inside and finally took his pet's heavily leaking cock in all the way to the root. Mycroft squeezed John's hand hard, and the smaller man hissed slightly as he hunched forward, wrapping his free arm around his torso, holding Mycroft tight as he watched Greg's head bobbing steadily in his lap. John let his fingers comb through Mycroft's ginger chest hair, idly circling closer and closer to one unwary nipple. He waited until Greg had once more taken in all of Mycroft's length before tweaking the pink bud rather viciously. Greg glanced up, rather startled by the sharp cry that had seemingly been ripped from his pet's throat.

John winked down at him, and Greg simply nodded before bobbing all the way down again, sucking hard as he came back up, with John pinching and twisting the sensitive nub between his fingers. Mycroft's mouth opened, but only a hoarse squeak emerged as Gregory let him fall out of his mouth with a loud pop. He quickly went back to work, shoving another finger deep into his pet's still-slick arse before licking and sucking and nibbling at the glans and down the shaft of his lovely, oh-so-red, oh-so-desperate prick.

John chuckled as Mycroft shivered against him. "Oh, that mouth. Jesus, I fucking love it when he goes down on me. That tongue, motherfucking Christ, so hot, so quick and nimble. Yes, that mouth is a goddamn miracle." The good doctor huffed out a soft breath into Mycroft's ear, his hand travelling upward until it was wrapped loosely around his throat. He began to stroke his neck, from chin down to breastbone and then back again. "But you know what I like the best of all?" Mycroft shook his head silently, beginning to rock his hips between Gregory's hand and mouth. "Oh, I'm sure you do, sweetheart. That lovely, thick cock of his. When he just shoves his way inside, starts fucking me hard and fast, oh sweet baby Jesus, that nearly sends me over every fucking time. So hard, so hot, oh so deep... God, he fills me up in the most spectacular way, and once he's in me, I _never_ want to let him go. Even now, Jesus, I feel empty, Mycroft. He's not in me, and my arse is positively _aching_ to be filled by him again."

John paused, taking in Mycroft's profile as he trembled and thrashed and cursed under his breath. "And even with his fingers in you, your arse is begging for more too, isn't it? That gorgeous thick, hard - God - so _hard_ , hot cock, pounding away at you, filling you up, making you whole, twitching and jerking and getting just that much harder before pulsing, spurting, coming inside you, oh God, so deep inside and you never want to let him go as he fills you up with his hot, hot seed, God no, you want it all and more because you're nothing but his filthy little _whore_ and your hole is greedy, oh, so _hungry_  for him, isn't it? You'd let your arse suck him dry if you could. Suck out all that he is and hold him in you forever."

Mycroft's eyes squeezed shut as his body quivered uncontrollably, the rhythm of his bouncing hips beginning to unravel into something jerky and erratic. John growled low in his ear. "Oh, but I can't allow that, Mycroft. No, you can't have him, not _all_ of him - you have to share. You've taken from him, and now you're gonna give something back, yeah? You're going to let him feed from you, you're gonna let him take some of that strength back." He let his fingers tighten around that long, creamy neck minutely. "Stop holding back, sweetheart. Feed him - _come_ for him. Now." John hummed in appreciation as Mycroft's eyes flashed open and his body stiffened, his hips driving his prick so deep into Gregory's mouth that the older man choked a little, but he just breathed in deep from his nose and swallowed and swallowed again as his pet came hard, spurting copiously.

"Oh God, oh _God_ ohGodohmy _fucking_ God..." Mycroft writhed as Greg released him, swallowing once more before licking him as clean as he could. The red-haired man squirmed and wriggled through a rather startling number of aftershocks, sudden little tremors rushing through his body, leaving him quite insensate and completely out of breath. Greg withdrew his fingers from Mycroft's arse as he came up on his knees, a smug little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his most recent conquest twisted himself onto his side and pulled his knees up, still clutching hard onto John's hand.

John shook his head slightly, rolling his eyes at Greg's self-satisfied expression. He continued to run his fingers through Mycroft's hair and over his shoulders as he recovered, humming quietly as he arched into his touch. Greg watched them for a moment, his dark eyes shining with contentment, the smug smile being replaced with one of absolute affection. He leant in to give them both a kiss - Mycroft on his temple, and John on his cheek. "My pet. My love." He nuzzled into Mycroft's damp hair briefly. "God, I love you both so much."

John chuckled as Mycroft shivered slightly and mumbled pure nonsense. "Still coming down from that one, I think. That was quite astounding, my love."

"I adore seeing him come undone like that. The British government reduced to nothing but sweaty, floppy limbs and incoherent cries. _Unf_. And you and your mouth, my love. Filthy little fucker."

John laughed again as Mycroft released his hand and once more twisted his long body, coming to rest on his belly with his face planted firmly in John's middle. "Wriggly thing, isn't he?"

Greg smiled down at him fondly. "If it weren't for the age difference, I'd say that he and Sherlock could be twins. They seem to share a lot of the same behaviours."

"Hm." John's nodded silently, his eyes cutting over to the small desk, where the carton of milk and glass were waiting. "You know, My mentioned something about..."

"Biscuits." Greg clutched at his stomach and winced as it spoke up again, vociferously unhappy with the delay that John's little visit had caused. His other rebellious body part, however, was absolutely chuffed with the current turn of events, so... "Right. Just a mo." He hopped off the bed and went to wash, coming back to find that either Mycroft had rolled off of John in his mild thrashings, or else the smaller man had encouraged him to lie down on his own next to him. He was still tucked in close, with John's arm around his shoulders, but he was slowly sliding, inexorably sinking down into the pillows, his eyes barely open.

John himself was sitting upright, a clear look of interest on his face as Greg fetched the basket and set it in his lap with a quiet chuckle. He also retrieved the milk, pouring some into the glass and taking a small sip. He shrugged. "Little warm, but not poisoned." John smiled gently as Mycroft giggled sleepily. "As far as I can tell, anyway... You never know in this flat." He placed it on the bedside table at John's elbow.  
   
John sighed melodramatically. "Yes, every day in 221B is certainly an adventure. Although not so much since we banished our personal Jekyll to the basement laboratory..." Mycroft snorted into his chest and slid a little lower in the bed. John shook his head as Greg climbed up on the mattress at Mycroft's back, reaching across to snag a biscuit. They were large, perfectly golden-brown, liberally dotted with chocolate chips and - oh, yes - walnuts. Greg hummed happily as he bit into it, the texture nice and crispy on the outside, perfectly fluffy on the inside. John demolished one in two large bites, groaning loudly in ecstasy. He rather startled Mycroft, who sat up abruptly before turning an absolutely fierce, albeit adorably grumpy, expression on the smaller man.  
   
John giggled as Greg ran his hand down Mycroft's back soothingly. "Shh, pet. It's okay. You're okay. Back to sleep, now." Mycroft squinted as he huffed in irritation, flopping back down, burying his face into John's covered midriff, wrapping one arm around him and then throwing one long leg over for good measure. Greg chuckled quietly. "Looks like you're gonna be his teddy for the night, love."  
   
John frowned slightly, but did not hesitate to dive into the basket for another biscuit after taking a large draught of milk. He passed the glass over to Greg. "It would probably be better if I went back downstairs, y'know. Sherlock's bound to be coming up for air soon, and this probably isn't the way he should find out about this. Not that anything really forbidden happened, but still..." Mycroft mumbled again and tightened his grip. John sighed as he looked down at him. "Yeah, I guess not." He quirked an eyebrow, staring down at the tidy mop of ginger curls that was pressed into him. "He really is remarkably like his younger brother."  
   
Greg grinned and winked at him while reaching for another biscuit and passing the milk back. "You have it the wrong way round, my love. His younger brother is remarkably like him." John rolled his eyes, but nodded quietly in acquiescence.  
   
The two men silently devoured three biscuits each and drained nearly all of the milk between them, occasionally grinning at each other through teeth streaked with wondrous chocolaty goodness. Greg smiled softly as he saw John's head beginning to nod against the headboard, and rescued the glass that was held precariously in a loose grip. He clambered off the bed as gently as he could and went to turn the lights down low. After all, he was anticipating a visitor sometime in the night, and although Sherlock was ridiculously agile, Greg still wanted to avoid any bumped toes if at all possible. He stretched, rubbing at his now all-too-full and blessedly silent tummy before getting back into the bed, pulling the blanket over Mycroft and himself. His pet made an indistinct noise as he slid his arm over his waist, somehow wriggling deeper into both of the men wrapped around him. Greg put his nose to the top of his head and breathed in deeply, letting the soothing aroma of Earl Grey tea waft over and into him, leading him deep into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is surprised by his reaction to his lovers and brother all sleeping together, and finds himself lost in a childhood memory, resulting in yet another revelation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! I really, really, really do not mean for this to keep happening! But being at nearly 4k words already, I have once again split this last bit up into separate chapters. The next part will be Sherlock reviewing the video footage, and his reaction to that... 
> 
> This bit has some terribly schmoopy parts to it, and maybe a bit too much sweetness, but I find that I'm really liking the idea of M & S as kids together, so...
> 
> Anyway, once again, I greatly appreciate your help in keeping the muse fed - please do comment, my darlings!

When Sherlock finally did emerge from his personal playground in the basement lab, he padded silently up to 221B and down the hallway, a little surprised to find the bed in their shared bedroom empty. But only a little, really. He paused at the attic staircase, looking up at the door, taking in the faint light that was shining through the cracks. It had been left open just a tiny, tiny bit. Obviously an invitation, then. And it would be unspeakably rude to refuse such an invitation, wouldn't it?  
   
He took a moment outside the door to just breathe, unsure of what he may encounter, unsure of how he may react. Even after several months of sharing his life, his home - his heart - with his lovers and now his brother, Sherlock found that he could not accurately predict his own behaviour. And my God, it was beyond frustrating to be left in the dark like that - in his own bloody mind! He almost began to feel something like sympathy when he thought of the way ordinary people had to live - was it like that for them all the time? That uncertainty, that hesitation? It was such a foreign sensation to him, but Sherlock was finding that it also proved to be an adequate distraction from the boredom at times. Even after honing his intellect for long, long years, there were still so many things to discover - about himself, about the people that, against all odds, he cared for. It certainly seemed that another lesson was imminent, and he was actually excited, if slightly nervous, to see what he may learn about himself this time.  
   
He shook his head slightly and then pushed the door open, peeking around the jamb to take in the tableau on the bed. Mycroft, his elder brother, was nearly being smothered in between his two lovers, for once acting as the Holmes filling in a delectable Watson-Lestrade sandwich. Sherlock stepped up to the side of the bed and clenched his fists as he waited for the jealousy to strike at him, waited for that deep gnawing pain to explode in his belly. He breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately - waiting, just waiting. He tilted his head and waited some more. And a little more. _Well_. He let a soft questioning sound out into the atmosphere of the room, freezing suddenly as Mycroft shifted slightly, mumbling something too low to hear, almost as if he were answering his brother's indistinct query.  
   
Sherlock stared down at the trio, putting a hand to his lips, a little surprised to find that he was grinning like a fool. All three were clearly naked, although in an obvious attempt to cut down on skin-to-skin contact, John had been wrapped up rather securely on his own with the bedsheet. He did have his arm cinched in around Mycroft's middle, even though he and Greg were mostly snuggled up together under the blanket. Really, very little of his brother was easily visible, as he had his face mostly tucked into John's chest, and Greg's arm draped securely over his shoulders. He shifted again, and John responded in his sleep, loosening his grip and leaning back slightly to give Mycroft the room necessary to wriggle and twist, turning his body further into his Gregory. There was a contented little sigh from the monkey in the middle and Greg responded with a low hum as he pulled him in tighter. Sherlock blinked rapidly and frowned as he felt something in his chest burst and bloom, a diffuse warmth trickling down into his stomach. Well, that was rather unexpected... Not jealousy - happiness. Even if this (whatever _this_ was) hadn't been officially sanctioned, he simply couldn't find it in himself to be angry, or upset. Mycroft was happy, and Sherlock was damned if that didn't make him deliriously happy as well.  
   
Sherlock looked down at them once again, smirking as he took in the pink flush still clinging to all of their cheeks, the sweat-curled hair and limbs heavy with endorphins. He would of course verify his suspicions via the video feed a little later, but the signs definitely showed that all of them had gotten off at one point or another; Mycroft at least twice, and Greg - well - God only knew with that animal. He shook his head again as he closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. The room smelled of them, of course, of their congress - a pleasant if slightly overwhelming tang of the sea, of heady musk and clean sunshine and flowering bergamot, of - of... Sherlock frowned and opened his eyes. Of chocolate.  
    
He let his nose lead the way, not that it had far to go, as the evidence was practically right there at his feet. Sherlock bent to retrieve the basket, drawing aside the red silk hanky and scowling down at the crumbs that littered the bottom. Now he felt the jealousy, the anger - Mycroft had baked his favourite biscuits, and he had not shared with him. Sherlock grinned fiercely as he let the all-too-familiar and all-too-stupid younger sibling emotions flood through his body, but then they fizzled out just as quickly as they had come, leaving him feeling a trifle shaken. Sherlock, you _idiot_ \- there was no need to get angry. Of course Mycroft would have brought more - of _course_ he would share. He just had to find them, that's all.

His eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the room at this point, and he looked down at the floor in slight surprise. Mycroft had obviously been terribly distracted, if he had left this much clutter hanging about. In addition to the basket, John's pyjamas had been carelessly discarded, along with a couple of damp flannels, and a there was a bottle of lube lying nearby. Sherlock snatched up the latter and popped it into a pocket of his dressing gown. He was fairly sure he'd be needing it in a little while... Letting his gaze travel, he took note of a small pile of clothing in front of the wardrobe.

He stepped over and rifled through it, holding up the little wisp of a skirt and swallowing hard as he realised that it had been part of his brother's costume. Obviously, Greg had told him what had been planned for the evening when he had enquired about the prosthetic teeth, but Sherlock had not been prepared - indeed, he had not even allowed himself to imagine what Mycroft's outfit might consist of. Which seemed to be little more than a tiny strip of fabric and a pair of thigh-high stockings... He swallowed again and blew out a soft breath, trying to bring his pulse back under control.

Sherlock glanced to his left and without thinking, reached out to grab the red lace knickers that were crumpled up on top of the toy box at the foot of the bed. He regretted it almost immediately, not because of the rather disgusting, crunchy feel of them in his hand, but because the scents that wafted up as he gripped them tight made his head swim. It was Mycroft, and it was Greg, and the smell of the two of them together left Sherlock reeling as he fought to stay upright, all of the blood in his brain having suddenly vacated for southern climes.

_Jesus_. Jesus fucking _Christ_. Sherlock staggered slightly and forced himself to open his fist and let the hideously filthy, God - crusty, funky, abso-fucking-lutely _intoxicating_ pants fall from his hand. His cock throbbed insistently, but Sherlock just shook his head and ignored it as best he could, continuing to breathe steadily, deliberately. No - not yet. Biscuits. He could wank when the case was solved, goddammit. He couldn't prevent himself from sticking the fingers of that hand in his mouth, though, and his body jerked hard at the beguiling taste. Oh, fuck _yes_ \- Sherlock shook himself again, reorienting his mind before the bloody pants ended up in his mouth as well.

Later, damn it. Later. He glanced back at the wardrobe, but dismissed it in the next breath. Too obvious. He looked around the room with a little roll of his eyes - there weren't many other options, of course. So Sherlock went into the tiny bathroom, pleased to see that there was a night-light plugged in by the sink, illuminating the area rather handily. His brother really was terribly considerate at times. Without hesitation, he took the smallish bag off the top of the supply cabinet and began to root around in it impatiently.

He froze momentarily at the feeling of fur, and took out one of the large ears, balancing it on his palm. Sherlock snorted quietly, picturing two of them perched on top of Greg's head. The image that he conjured was not as, well - comical as he first imagined it might be when Greg had confided in him the week before. No, now Sherlock could see it a little more clearly, with the teeth that he had provided, and oh - the tail. He drew it out of the bag slowly, running his elegant fingers through the thick fur before rubbing his cheek against it. No, not comical at all. Majestic. Sherlock knew without a doubt that this night would not be the only time Greg would be playing the part of a fairy tale villain.

Although now he found himself even more eager to solve his 'case' and find those blasted biscuits so he could finally sit down and watch the video feed. He could imagine Greg as the wolf, oh, yes - all too easily. But as a villain? This, he could not see, and he sincerely doubted that Mycroft could either. How, then, had the game been played? Sherlock shook his head again as he replaced the items and once more put his nose to work. The fur, yes, a faint aroma of eau de Lestrade, and again, underlying it all, chocolate. This is what had transported the elusive biscuits, so naturally, they had to be hidden here. And the only thing that could possibly conceal them was the cabinet opposite the toilet.

Sherlock turned to it, holding his breath slightly as the first drawer squeaked open. Rolling his eyes, he shifted a ridiculous number of condoms from side to side impatiently. No. His stomach growled uneasily as he went for the second drawer, quirking an eyebrow at the bottles of lube all lined up in neat little rows. Sherlock snorted as he contemplated knocking them all askew, simply to aggravate his brother's OCD. He resisted the temptation and went down on his knees to investigate the third and final drawer. Nothing but clean flannels, and he carefully felt his way through and between the stacks, huffing quietly in frustration.

Another healthy sniff revealed the scent of bleach and - of course, chocolate. Goddammit! They clearly were _not_ here, and yet, they clearly _were_. Sherlock slammed the drawer shut with a little more force than necessary, freezing and holding his breath as he tilted his head. There was no discernible change in the slumbering noises coming from the main room, so he let his breath out on a soft sigh, immediately taking in another through his nose. Odd. With the drawer shut, the delicious aroma of baked goods was somehow stronger.

Sherlock blinked doubtfully as he took in the small dark space between the bottom of the cabinet and the floor. It couldn't possibly be that easy... Could it? He crouched down and reached under, his fingertips just brushing at something near to the back wall. With a little grunt, he pushed just a bit further and slowly drew out his prize, a plate near to overflowing and covered in plastic wrap. Sherlock let a giggle escape as he clutched it to his chest, a rather ridiculous sense of accomplishment flowing over him. It was such a stupid, infantile game, but it was one that his brother had initiated, and Sherlock found that he was a little giddy with it.

He swiftly sat down on the closed toilet and unwrapped his booty, his wild grin faltering slightly as he looked down and saw a face looking back at him. He gasped as that little knot of warmth unravelled in his chest once again and frowned as he blinked back sudden tears. The last time Mycroft had made one of these stupid little smiley-face biscuits for him, he had been six years old. Sherlock poked at the walnut half that was serving as a nose before ripping it off and chewing it to bits rather viciously. He let memory overtake him as he methodically consumed eyes and mouth, one delicious chocolate chip at a time.

Yes, he had been six, Mycroft thirteen. As per their usual, they were on their own, and as per usual, Sherlock had been bored. Mycroft had been studying, he recalled - preparing for some exam or other. He knew that it was important, of course he knew that. But he also knew that he was important, and that his brother's attention should be focused on him, and him alone. So he had wheedled and whinged until his elder brother had turned his favourite look upon him, that expression of fond exasperation, that little roll of the eyes and upturn of lips.

Mycroft had agreed that perhaps a little run around the back garden was just what Sherlock needed, and had followed behind with his textbook, ostensibly to continue studying, but in reality to keep an eye on the younger Holmes. Sherlock had been all too aware of this, and he had wasted no time in doing what he did best - showing off. Somewhere in the midst of running and tumbling and tossing himself at trees that were far to tall for him to scale, Sherlock had of course fallen flat on his face, scraping up both knees rather impressively.

He recalled bursting into tears, but as he looked back on it now, he realised that the trigger had been the shock of his own stupidity, and not so much the pain of the actual injury. It had earned him what he had been seeking, though - Mycroft's undivided attention. He had wailed and sniffled convincingly, and even though his brother had cooed and caressed him through his little breakdown, Sherlock remembered a distinct glint of amusement in his grey eyes. Of course he had seen right through him. And of course he had indulged him, crouching down at his side so Sherlock could clamber onto his back and from there onto his shoulders.

Sherlock had always loved it when he would carry him like that, with his cool, soft hands wrapped securely around his legs, holding him firmly in place. For even at this relatively tender age, his older brother was already nearly six-foot, gangly and awkward as the last remnants of baby-fat were still clinging to cheek and belly and thigh. Sitting up on his brother's strong shoulders, Sherlock felt like the tallest boy in the world, like he could defeat anything or anyone that dared to come up against him. On his brother's shoulders, he felt invincible. Up so high on his brother's shoulders, Sherlock felt loved. He had leant down and pressed his cheek to the top of Mycroft's head, wiping the last of his crocodile tears away as he nuzzled into his soft red hair. Mycroft had chuckled at him, soft and low, as he carried him back into the manor via the kitchen door.

Cook and Nanny had been engrossed in their weekly gossiping session around the centre worktop, but both ladies looked up as the brothers came in, and had swiftly vacated upon seeing the expression on Mycroft's face. Nanny came back in as Mycroft was settling Sherlock onto one of the tall stools, setting a small first-aid kit down and resting a comforting hand on the older boy's shoulder before retreating once again. Mycroft had gone down on one knee, carefully cradling each of Sherlock's chubby little legs as he had dabbed antiseptic on the wounds, hissing in sympathy as his little brother whimpered quietly, shaking his head as Sherlock clenched his tiny fists into his hair.

_"Sherlock."_ A quiet admonishment, nothing more, and Sherlock had released his hold, choosing instead to pat his brother's head, rather like one might pat a dog. Mycroft had sighed in exasperation, but had also pressed a gentle kiss to each bandaged knee before looking up into Sherlock's face. He had seen it then, seen a flash of something dark and needy deep in his brother's eyes, and although Sherlock had been frightened at the look, he had also been exhilarated. Even though he had not known precisely what it had meant, he knew without a doubt that Mycroft needed him in some unfathomable, bone-gnawing way, and that had thrilled his young mind to such an extent that he had felt his small body vibrating with it. But nearly as quickly that look had flashed across his brother's face, it had vanished, replaced by something rather bleak - a cold, expressionless mask. Mycroft had sighed again and stood, ruffling a hand through matted curls.

"Better?" Sherlock had nodded tremulously, his bottom lip quivering slightly, and Mycroft had nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Now sit there and be still, if you can, and I'll make us both a treat. How's that?" Sherlock broke out into a sunny grin, and Mycroft couldn't help but echo it, his cool grey eyes warming around the edges as they wrinkled in pleasure. He dropped a kiss to the top of his brother's head. "Brat."

Sherlock had giggled and turned toward the counter, watching with his chin in his hands as Mycroft bustled around, pulling out the ingredients that he needed and placing them on the worktop. He wouldn't have needed Mycroft's warning to keep quiet - he adored watching him as he worked, watching his face crinkle in concentration as he pulled up whatever recipe he wanted in that remarkable brain of his, as he carefully rolled his cuffs up to just below his elbow, as his meticulously choreographed dance moved him from one thing to another with a minimum of fuss or mess. Every motion was calculated, Sherlock could see this, could see the map of the kitchen that his brother had laid out in his head, admired the neat and precise pathways of his mind, the economy and beauty of his movements, as sparse as they were. He admired it because Sherlock knew that he would never be able to be that - all of his gestures and ideas and actions were large, grand, over the top and beyond the pale. But he took some amount of satisfaction in that as well, for although Mycroft would never admit it, Sherlock knew that he was just a tiny bit jealous of the way that he was able to let go. Mycroft couldn't - or at least he had convinced himself that he couldn't. He was the elder, and he needed to look after the younger. That was all there was to it.

Sherlock came back to himself in the dimly-lit bathroom, the plate of biscuits nearly forgotten on his lap. He suddenly realised that their somewhat unhealthy dynamic had been set firmly in place even then. What should have been a comforting gesture on his brother's part had instead been interpreted as positive reinforcement for Sherlock's manipulative behaviour. If he wanted Mycroft's attention, and really - when did he not want that grey, clear-eyed gaze fixed on him, and only him? So yes, if he wanted his undivided attention, well, all he had to do was hurt himself, and big brother would instantly be there at his side, once again cooing and caressing and making him feel the centre of his entire universe. Until University had taken him away, leaving Sherlock alone - so very _alone_ , on the cusp of his own puberty, his own self-discoveries, self-indulgence, and ultimately, self-denial. Even after he had returned, nothing had been the same. Something had happened to him in that shadowy near-adult realm, and Mycroft was no longer just his older brother, no, now he was Mr. Holmes, and Sherlock simply could not continue to delude himself. He was no longer important, he was no longer loved. Mycroft had better things, more important things to attend to than a bratty younger sibling. After that realisation, the drugs were an easy choice, really. Sherlock had even derived a sick sort of satisfaction in the idea of harming himself, a little more since Mycroft wasn't lingering over his shoulder like some indistinct guardian angel. But even then - he wasn't far away. No - as exasperated and horrified as he had been with his little brother's choices, he had still never been that far away, no, he had been waiting to catch his inevitable fall.

Sherlock felt his cheeks burning in shame even as he crammed another delicious biscuit into his craw, his eyes rolling in gastronomic bliss. Mycroft had loved him, wholly and completely, the true definition of unconditional affection. And he had thrown that back in his face, used it to hurt him. But why? Even Sherlock could not deduce his reasoning, when his own heart now ached to embrace his older brother as he had long years ago, to cling to him as he cried, letting out the hurts and the invisible wounds, so that Mycroft could kiss it better and just make it all go away. And of course he would do the same, show Mycroft that he was there for all the good and all the bad that he had done and had been done to him, that they belonged together, now and always. Soon. It would happen soon; Sherlock was confident of that one thing at least, and when it did happen, oh - he would make it up to him. Every wrong that he had ever done to his brother would be set _right_.

But for now... Sherlock crept back out into the bedroom and tip-toed around the bed to set the plate of biscuits down on the desk. He drank down the remainders of the milk, grimacing slightly at the warmth of it, but still let out a quiet satisfied sigh as the liquid settled into his stomach, leaving him feeling a little heavy, maybe even drowsy. He eyed the sliver of empty space in the bed at Greg's back, but with a quick glance at the innocuous wardrobe, he knew that sleep wasn't an option. Not just yet, anyway. There was still evidence to be reviewed, after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begins to review the evening's events...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I find that I have to divide this up... It's taking longer than I expected, and I wanted to have something to post, so here we go!
> 
> This chapter and hopefully only one more will mostly be a review of Greg and Mycroft's little game, so most of it will be familiar to those that have been following along, but it does include Sherlock's observations and conclusions, so that may be of interest to everyone...
> 
> Please do comment, let me know how I'm doing!
> 
> Thank you, my lovelies!

Sherlock swiftly disconnected the feeds on the laptop and settled down with it on the floor, putting his back to the wall and resting his feet against the toy box. He eyed the red knickers that were still sitting there suspiciously, half-expecting them to come to life and leap at his face. With one corner of his mouth quirking at his fanciful turn of thought, he fished out the pair of earbuds that he habitually carried in his dressing gown pocket and plugged them in before rewinding the video to earlier in the evening. Then Sherlock balanced the laptop on his knees and wriggled into a more comfortable position, ready to take in the show. 

The angle was of course limited, as the camera's eye was mostly focused on the bed, but with the microphone that Mycroft had installed, a lot that was unseen was able to be easily parsed, especially if you could see unseen things the way that Sherlock could... He was able to watch as his brother damn near snuck into the room like a wary thief, with Greg safely ensconced in the small toilet. He heard the creak of the wardrobe door opening, and the quiet rustle of fabric as Mycroft shed his suit jacket. Sherlock smirked slightly when he saw Greg emerge and begin to sneak up on his prey, his movements stealthy and slow to avoid jostling his cock, which was already visibly straining at the front of his pyjama bottoms. No wonder, with the way he had continually refused John any attempt to tend to him. Sherlock's prick twitched in sympathy, and he winced as he reached down to rearrange it. Stupid thing.

Although Sherlock had been able to retain some amount of control over his traitorous body since taking up with Greg and John, it still broke free from his mental restraint occasionally, often at the most inopportune moments. Particularly at crime scenes, since so much of his considerable brain power would be taken up with the puzzle that his control would slip, all too easily. It would happen most often when Greg and John would be speaking together, ostensibly about the case, but then there would be a small movement from either of them, a subtle shifting in their postures, a gradual gravitation toward one another. A quick spark would inevitably follow, a quirk of one dark eyebrow, a tiny flicker of pink tongue, and Sherlock would suddenly find himself immersed in a daydream, memories far too visceral for him to easily set aside. Greg, damn the man, would always - _always_ \- notice when he had slipped into this little fugue state, and would glance around quickly to make sure that no-one was watching before letting that devilish tongue of his dart out to caress his patented wicked grin, making Sherlock's cheeks heat furiously. And then John, usually a bit slower on the uptake, would glance over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eye before pretending interest in some bit of fluff on the ground, bending at the waist to investigate the potential 'evidence' and presenting his firm little arse for Sherlock's appreciation. Sherlock was positive that on one or more of these occasions he had made some rather undistinguished noises, but they tended to be mostly drowned out by his lovers' giggles.

How the rest of Greg's team didn't know that there was something going on between the three of them was beyond astonishing to Sherlock. Since Greg's altercation with the knife-wielding idiot all those months ago, all of their defences had dropped. Each of them took solace in the fact that they were together, no matter where they were. Even without the overt touches or flirtatious glances, it should have been beyond obvious that they were involved. Sally was the only one who knew for sure, and her feelings on the matter seemed to oscillate between suspicion and jealousy, but settled most often on satisfaction. She was happy that Greg was happy, and it was in the moments that she let that out that Sherlock actually felt the tiniest bit of warmth towards her. Of course, if he tried to show that, her mood would swiftly segue right back into cold suspicion, so he mostly kept it to himself. But nobody else on the team seemed to notice, indeed, they hardly looked at them at all, even when Greg and John practically had to hold each other up through their immature little giggle fits. But then, maybe they weren't looking because it didn't matter to them how their boss conducted his private life, as long as he was still getting the job done. And he was, oh yes. Even with keeping one eye on John and Sherlock, either to answer questions about the crime scene or to flirt unabashedly, he was still well aware of what else was going on around him, and would not hesitate to leave them behind if he was needed elsewhere. He really was terribly efficient at his job, and took pride in doing it well. Sherlock glanced up toward the bed briefly, where Greg was snoring gently into Mycroft's hair. How had he ever taken this man for granted?

Sherlock's attention was brought back to the laptop screen as he listened to his brother babbling out some ridiculous explanation for his late arrival. He snorted quietly. _The spa, Mycroft? Oh, brother dear - what_ were _you thinking?_ He felt himself shiver deliciously as Greg growled menacingly, and Mycroft continued to babble, effectively diverting Greg's attention away from his anger by being annoyingly cute. Sherlock shivered again as his brother's voice went coy and breathy, as he practically begged to suck his lover's cock. He closed his eyes briefly, seeing the expression on Mycroft's face all too easily, the way he would have slumped down against the wall to give Greg the height advantage, the shy downward glance of his cool grey eyes, the light tinge of pink on his strawberries-and-cream cheeks. And then he heard John's name being mentioned, and his eyes flashed open again. He still couldn't see them, due to the angle of the camera, but it was obvious that some of the coyness had left Mycroft's voice, that he was attempting to make a point to his lover.

When Mycroft mentioned that John was feeling rejected, Sherlock instantly felt the burn of shame flare up across his cheeks. Oh God. _God_ , he hadn't even thought of it that way... No, when Greg had come home Thursday evening, the tension and irritability had already been radiating from his body in hot, pulsing waves. Sherlock had managed to make it through most of dinner, with John attempting to keep the mood light and Greg scowling fiercely at nothing in particular, or rather at everything that happened to be in his line of sight, before he gave up and headed downstairs to his lab. He simply could not handle seeing Greg frustrated in such a manner, and had blamed his lover's nasty attitude on Mycroft, although Sherlock was positive that he had not asked him not to indulge. But before his brother had ever come to him, before he was getting those base animal urges satisfied on a near-daily basis, Greg had been able to hold himself back, to eagerly accept whatever attentions his lovers had been willing to give him. In the past two and a half days, without having Mycroft as an outlet for his urges, Greg's demeanour had been a little more demanding, and Sherlock simply could not bear to be near him in such a state, so he had retreated. He had hidden himself away, only thinking of his own comfort - not once had he even thought about how John might react to Greg refusing him, not once had he thought to be there for him. Oh, _John_... And now, even more than before, he could not begrudge whatever had happened in this room between these three men, because John had clearly needed it as much as Greg had, if not more, and Sherlock himself had obviously been inadequate to the task.

_'I told him that you would make it up to him.'_

_'Oh, did you now?'_

_'Or that I would make it up to him next week, yes.'_

Sherlock smiled despite the little ball of shame that was still caught in his throat. _So thoughtful, brother mine._ His smile widened as Mycroft begged for a kiss, and even giggled a little at the sharp intake of breath that indicated Greg's new canines had finally been noticed. He congratulated himself on acquiring those particular props for his lover, even if they had actually been Greg's idea. An idea that Mycroft very much appreciated, from his description of Greg's behaviour thus far. And then there was the sound of clothing being dragged down the wall as Mycroft sank to his knees, a heady groan as he took Greg into his mouth and then - oh, and _then_... Sherlock's head swam alarmingly at the noises that his brother was making around his lover's thick cock, muffled moans and positively obscene slurping. Jesus fucking _Christ_ , how could a man love sucking cock that much? Or was it just Greg's prick that did that to him? Whatever it was, his brother was no doubt as skilled as he was enthusiastic, since Greg came after only a few scant minutes, the exhalation of his breath upon release sounding rather pained.

He had waited too long, of course. Sherlock winced and gave his own prick a solid squeeze in hopes of getting it to stop throbbing at him so insistently. And then the couple finally appeared on the screen, as Mycroft walked Greg backwards until he was propped up against the bed, a little loose-limbed and heavy-eyed. His brother kept popping in and out of the frame as he discarded his clothing, and Sherlock tilted his head as he noticed Greg looking down, seemingly at Mycroft's feet. His curiosity getting the better of him, he put the laptop down on the floor while going up on his knees, lifting the blanket so he could look for himself. The light was dim, of course, but he smiled to see John's feet tangled up in his brother's, his long toes having been painted a rather sparkly bright red. The little snort of laughter that burst out of his nose was certainly noticed by their entwined limbs, as both John and Mycroft twitched slightly. Sherlock hastily replaced the blanket and resumed his position on the floor, once again focusing his attention on the video feed. Mycroft was stretched out against the headboard, and Greg was caressing his feet and lower legs as they spoke to one another.

For some reason, the tender scene was a bit too much for Sherlock to take, and he found himself forwarding through the conversation, and even through Mycroft arranging the rather ridiculous ears on Greg's head and pulling out the tail for his perusal. It wasn't until Greg settled down on his stomach on the mattress that Sherlock resumed viewing. Mycroft's intention was obvious as he positioned his lover just right, as he leant in and then went down on his belly himself behind him, absolutely burying his face into Greg's arse. Although he couldn't see precisely just what Mycroft was doing, nothing but the sounds that Greg was making as he was expertly eaten out was nearly enough to send him off. Sherlock stifled a groan and once more squeezed his cock, which was beginning to leak rather steadily. God, he wasn't going to last, was he? He shook his head and once more focused on the screen, as Mycroft finally withdrew and retrieved the tail from Greg's hot grip. Sherlock bit down on his clenched fist as he watched his brother manipulate the plug, twisting and pushing until Greg was able to take it all.

Sherlock stifled a low moan into his fist as he watched Greg's hips roll and twist, the tail twitching behind him like a living thing. He sat back on his heels abruptly, capturing Mycroft's hand to keep him from tugging on it. Sherlock greedily took in Greg's posture, which had shifted subtly - something in Mycroft's stare making him sit up straighter, perhaps. Something in the tilt of his head, the slope of his shoulders, something relaxed and yet not - there was a tension simmering in the lines and curves of his body, the unending patience of a predator waiting out his prey. Greg had become the wolf, and Mycroft the lamb. This became abundantly obvious as Greg pulled Mycroft in closer, as he ran his mouth, tongue and teeth all over his prey's face and neck, as his brother became absolutely pliant in his lover's arms even as he tried to crowd in as close as he could. Sherlock could see Mycroft blinking rapidly as he was inexorably pushed to the mattress, striving to maintain some measure of control, but it was impossible - how could he, with the wolf looming over him so beautifully? Sherlock gasped quietly as Greg simply hoisted his brother's legs over his shoulders and nosed under his bollocks, but stilled suddenly as Mycroft cried out for him to stop.

Stop? Why would he want him to _stop_? Oh. Oh, yes. Mycroft didn't want to be the lamb, he wanted to be Red Riding Hood. Sherlock nodded as he listened to his brother's explanation, his own body unconsciously tensing as he read the anger and impatience in the curve of Greg's spine. He was obviously fed up with waiting, and spread Mycroft's legs even further, leaning forward just a bit. Sherlock suddenly felt his erection wilt slightly as he watched the scene, as he watched his brother tip his head back in resignation. Sherlock frowned as Mycroft exposed his throat, not in wilful submission, but in surrender. He shook his curls again. _No, Greg. Not like that. Please, not like that._ Almost as if his lover had heard him, Greg slowly backed off the bed and nodded Mycroft toward the small toilet.

_'Get on with it, pet. Before I completely lose my temper.'_

Sherlock sighed and slumped back down against the wall, releasing the tension that he hadn't entirely been aware of. He didn't know why, especially since Mycroft had obviously consented without saying a word, but if Greg had taken him in that moment, it would have been wrong. He frowned again as his brother hesitated at the doorway, beckoning Greg forward. _Brother, what are you doing? Don't - you'll antagonise him. I thought you were the smart one, Mycroft. Just - don't._ But of course, he wasn't really there, so his brother ignored his advice and drew Greg into the tiny room with him. While the microphone that had been installed was of course state-of-the-art, it was focused on the room in general, so the sounds emerging from the bathroom were rather muffled. But there was something there, some undertone of violence that Sherlock could practically feel emanating from the toilet, an almost psychic impression that left him recoiling slightly. His prick softened even further as he closed his eyes, straining his ears in a desperate attempt to parse out actual language.

_'You want me to hurt you? Is that it?'_

Sherlock jerked the earbuds out and tilted his head back against the wall, breathing heavily. No, he didn't think Greg would - he honestly didn't think he was capable of it. But just the threat had sent his blood racing, inducing an almost fight-or-flight surge of adrenaline through his veins. He wanted to pull Mycroft out of his cosy little man-sandwich and wrap him up in his arms and never let him go again. He had suffered so much in his life, and Sherlock was determined that he would not allow it to happen again. His brother deserved love and caring, not the threat of pain or violence. A tiny traitorous voice spoke up in his head. _But what if he likes that sort of thing - what if he craves it? Maybe Greg is giving him what he needs, have you thought of that, baby brother?_ Sherlock shook his head violently and once more slotted the earbuds into place, steeling himself for what he may hear. The muffled voices were quieter now, more gentle in their tone and cadence. Sherlock frowned and closed his eyes again, concentrating on the ebb and flow of words, tilting his head as they became clearer.

_'It didn't feel - right - to me, somehow. I'm not even sure that I was entirely aware of it, although I do believe I knew what I was doing when I provoked you into action here. I am sorry, my love.'_

Oh, Mycroft... Something from Greg then, a low rumble, a gentle admonishment that Sherlock could not hear clearly. And then...

_'I just - well. I still worry that I'm not giving you everything you need. Do you miss it? Th-the cruelty, the disregard, the violence?'_

_Oh_ , oh God. Sherlock shook his head even as Mycroft answered in the negative, his breath hitching in his chest at the tone of melancholy in Greg's voice. His caring, extraordinarily loving silver DI. Of course he had picked up on Mycroft's unspoken signals, and had acted upon them as best he could, thinking that was what his lover needed in the moment. He clearly felt inadequate to the task, as well as he should. He could never be deliberately cruel. Not Greg. Some more quiet murmuring as the two men comforted each other, and Sherlock felt his body relax even further. Something momentous had happened between them, something that had perhaps strengthened their bond, and Sherlock felt nearly giddy with the relief that flooded over him. He even smiled as his brother playfully shoved Greg out of the toilet before closing the door in his face.

After a moment, Greg started to prowl around the small room, a slight furrow in his brow as he straightened this and that. He was obviously processing what had happened, still a little worried about Mycroft and perhaps even angry with himself for giving in to his baser instincts. He shook his head as he paced, attempting to set the incident aside, letting his body relax and his head turn to the idea of play. Sherlock could almost see it happening, watching with delight as Greg's steps became lighter, as he almost bounced on his toes, as he twitched his hips sharply, feeling out the tail and grinning through sharp wolf-teeth. There was still tension in his body, but it wasn't the heavy weight of anger and violence, no, now it was that same predatory grace that he had displayed before the scene had twisted ever-so-slightly. Sherlock sighed as his prick started to take notice again. Sweet Lord, he was _beautiful_.

Greg crouched, his attention seemingly attracted by something on the floor, but then froze as the door to the bathroom creaked open. Sherlock giggled slightly as Greg lifted his eyes above the level of the bed, as he put his hands on the mattress and slowly came to his feet while Mycroft stood still and silent, drinking in his lover's greedy gaze. Again, the angle wasn't quite right, but what Sherlock could see of his brother made his cock twitch as it started to fill out once again. Coy glances from under a red, red hood, white stockings and delicate lace around his elegant wrists, and that utterly, completely, ridiculously flimsy skirt... _Oh_. And when Greg started to crawl across the mattress to meet him, as that tail once more twitched to life, well fuck - so did Sherlock's prick, filling out so quickly that his head once again began to spin. He was barely even aware as Greg started to pace around Red, surveying the outfit, reaching out here and there and skipping away as Mycroft swatted at him. Sherlock snorted himself back into existence as Greg teased Mycroft about his knickers and he blushed adorably.

But then Greg's demeanour shifted, his pacing became more like prowling as he spoke the words that would finally set the game in motion.

_'I_ smell _you, child. And I'm going to_ find _you.'_

Oh. Oh, Jesus _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock continues to review the video footage...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, I find myself breaking things up a bit in order to make sure that I get at least one posting in for this week. The pattern does seem to be one chapter of Sherlock reviewing two chapters' worth of material, so I'm fairly confident in saying that there will only be one more before we're moving on. But, yeah - don't take that as gospel or anything, obviously!
> 
> So glad that you all have stuck by me here - I adore each and every one of you. Please do comment, help to keep me going! :)

Greg's proclamation obviously had the same effect on Mycroft that it did on Sherlock, as his brother's eyes widened and his body visibly jolted. Sherlock stifled his giggles into his clenched fist, watching with delight as Red tip-toed here and there, with the Wolf only a step or two behind, growling quietly the whole while. He couldn't help but notice that Mycroft was biting his bottom lip hard to keep his own giggles at bay, and seemed to be having a bit of difficulty in keeping his breathing steady. So Sherlock wasn't at all surprised when his brother suddenly ducked out of the camera's view, apparently stuffing himself into the crevice between wardrobe and wall. Oh, he was 'hiding', then. Cute. Almost sickeningly so, but Sherlock found himself quite fascinated nonetheless.  
   
Especially when Greg started speaking, calling Red out on his excitement, the arousal that was evident through his smell alone. Sherlock blinked rapidly, his heart beating in an odd rhythm as he listened to their encounter. Sweet Christ. He knew that Greg had a fondness for dramatics, but to actually hear him put that into action was something else altogether. His speech was slightly stilted at first, as if he were unsure of himself, but he was obviously bolstered as Mycroft responded in the same vein, and Greg was able to slip into his 'Wolf' persona a little more securely. It wasn't just the low growl underscoring his words that was making Sherlock's pulse race, it was the way he employed a rather definite sense of menace, albeit a rather playful one. Sherlock smirked as he listened to his brother attempting to give his lover attitude, and as Greg smacked him down quite handily.  
   
 _'Don't you get lippy with me, child. Ignorance of the law of the forest is no excuse for breaking the rules. You can feign ignorance all you like, but surely you are aware of the situation in which you now find yourself? Impudence is unseemly, Red, and will_ not _garner you pleasant results.'_  
   
 _"Oh."_ Sherlock laughed at himself as both he and Mycroft let out a quiet exclamation at the same moment.  
   
Good God, he was perfect. The very idea, nothing but a vague concept of the Big Bad Wolf made flesh, and Sherlock felt that he may just be grateful to his brother for the rest of his life for bringing this out in their mutual lover. He, well - he never would have thought to take their congress to such a place. When Sherlock allowed himself to indulge with either or both of his lovers, their sex was mostly about the physical. There was the emotional component as well, of course, but most often the act allowed him to just take his mind offline for a little while, and just, just - _feel_. But this - this was mental as well. Their minds were as fully engaged as their bodies, and that was a truly glorious thing to behold. They were themselves, and yet not, and it was utterly fascinating to observe as they collaborated together on their rather elaborate game.  
   
Sherlock snorted quietly as Red offered the use of his mouth as a toll. It seemed that no matter what guise his brother was wearing, he had difficulty playing anything other than the inveterate and quite unapologetic tart. And then those noises again, dear fucking God, the delightful, instantly arousing sounds of Mycroft's mouth working over Greg's thick, hard prick. _Ngh_. But then, oh - a small sound of disappointment as Greg withdrew, because of course it wasn't enough, no. Why would the Wolf let such a willing victim go that easily? Sherlock let out a small sigh as Greg prodded Mycroft toward the bed, toward his 'den'. Finally, he was going to be allowed to see as well as to hear. Sherlock chuckled slightly as Red climbed into the bed and then sat up against the headboard, his hands folded primly in his lap. Greg laughed at Red's seeming innocence as well, since it had already been proven to be quite false.  
   
Greg clambered onto the bed and began to advance on his captive on his hands and knees, causing Sherlock to stifle a loud gasp, as the camera was trained right on that glorious arse and that divinely beguiling tail. It should have been beyond ridiculous, Sherlock knew that he should be rolling his eyes at the utter stupidity of it, but he found instead that he could barely tear his gaze away. Greg was obviously luxuriating in the feel of it, as he would randomly roll his hips and clench down hard, making the fluffy abomination twitch and swing against the backs of his thighs. Sherlock realised that he was unconsciously imitating Mycroft's increased breathing as the Wolf made his position perfectly clear, that Red was indeed his prisoner and that none in the forest would dare to come to his aid, or even care if something untoward were to happen to one sad lost little human. Oh, but he was not in immediate danger, because the Wolf had been sated quite thoroughly by one of his pets. Sherlock's head cocked as he blinked at the laptop screen. Pets?   
    
Sherlock's eyebrows rose steadily as Greg neatly established both John and himself as characters within the narrative, as Bobcat and Panther. He flushed hotly at the mention of 'Panther' being muzzled. It was true that Greg had a tendency to clamp a hand over Sherlock's mouth while he was fucking him, unless that mouth was otherwise occupied with sucking John off, of course. Whether conscious or not, Greg definitely enjoyed making the Great Consulting Prat shut the hell up, and Sherlock was surprised to find that he didn't mind being _made_ to shut the hell up in the least. John had noticed this and only a few weeks back, in the middle of one of their extended sessions, had brought out a gaudily coloured gift bag from under the bed with a flourish. Inside, a brand-new ball gag, small, shiny and black. Sherlock had moaned and nearly come right there as Greg had snatched it up and stuffed it straight into his mouth without hesitation. The first 'muzzling' had gone swimmingly, and afterwards, Sherlock had reverently tucked it into his own shoe box. It had become a talisman of sorts, as Sherlock had presented it to Greg on a couple of occasions, as a mute request, if not a demand. Greg had smiled approvingly and caressed him as he slotted it into place and tugged the straps snug before leading him into the bedroom and laying him down on the bed. For Sherlock didn't always know what his body was craving, and had enormous difficulty expressing his needs to his lovers, no matter how much they encouraged him to speak up, telling him that he could ask anything of either of them without reservations. This way, he could give consent without saying a word, and Greg always understood. He briefly toyed with the idea of running downstairs to fetch it, but shook his head impatiently. No, he was not moving from this spot until the game was concluded.  
   
He nodded his head at Greg's description of John as Bobcat, and as Mycroft as Fox. Sherlock squirmed slightly as he debated the possibilities of them all 'tumbling' together in the terribly accurate animal personas that Greg had assigned for them, and gasped as his cock once again gave a healthy jerk, straining against his clothing. He hissed and shimmied both pyjamas and pants down, breathing a small sigh of relief as it bobbed up against his abdomen. _There, you bloody nuisance. You're free, now behave._ Sherlock stubbornly ignored the damn thing as it throbbed at him, and he continued to watch as Greg tugged Red's cape off his creamy shoulders and neatly rolled him over on his belly. He scowled in frustration as Greg's body blocked the view of Mycroft's lovely little arse, but smiled as he encouraged Red to go up on his knees, which presented the red lace knickers rather nicely for the camera's eye. Sherlock's body jolted as Greg sat back abruptly, obviously overcome at the glorious, wondrous sight before him. His head swam again as Mycroft taunted his lover playfully, and Greg leant in to sniff and lick and probe at that divinely pink arsehole.  
   
Jesus. _Jesus_. Jesus _fucking_ Christ... Nope. He couldn't. He just couldn't hold back any more, not with the sounds that both his brother and his lover were making, not with the sight of so much pink flesh being absolutely coated in saliva, so much so that it shone in the light, not with Greg licking and nibbling and growling in pleasure as he steadily worked a thumb into Mycroft, making him grunt in an appalling and delightfully animalistic manner. Sherlock's hand was shaking as he fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown, reaching for the lube that he had snatched up earlier as well as a bundle of tissues. He rewound the footage slightly, before letting his eyes close and his head tilt back against the wall, not wasting any time as he fisted himself, listening to those obscene noises as he thrust into his hand in short, sharp jerks. His bollocks pulled up almost immediately, the slick slide of lube and pre-ejaculate almost too much to bear as he tended to his hitherto neglected flesh. A quiet murmuring in his ears, a snarky tone from his brother and an admonishment from the Wolf, and then Mycroft babbling something that made Sherlock frown slightly, but oh, he was close, so _close_ and then...  
   
'Liar _. You are impudent and a liar. Show me, Red. You_ will _show me your secrets, or I will find them on my own.'_  
   
The unmistakable menace in Greg's deep, growly voice pushed him right over the edge. _"Nghk."_ Sherlock's spine locked as he came, his hips caught in mid-thrust, his arse not even touching the ground as his body bowed between the wall and toy box. He had just enough coherence to cover the head of his cock with tissues as it twitched and spurted and - bloody _hell_ \- spurted some more. Sherlock had to pause the video briefly, as his own breathing was harsh and ragged in his ears, blocking out all other sound. He shook his head and counted his breaths as he inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled slowly from his mouth, deliberately calming his racing heartbeat. Oh, oh _yes_... Once again, he felt the heaviness of his limbs and debated seriously about just crawling into the bed at Greg's back, but the temptation to watch the rest of the footage was just too great to ignore. He pressed play again as he impetuously kicked his bottoms and pants off, settling himself back down, sitting half-naked with his dressing gown pulled tight over him.  
   
'What? _What madness is this? What is this infernal - device? You would deny me my taste of your willing, needy flesh? You would deny yourself the pleasure of release?'_  
   
Sherlock recoiled slightly as he took in the note of anger in Greg's voice, and the look on Mycroft's face as he shrank back into the pillows.   
   
 _'Not I, Your Grace. I would deny you nothing. I would not dare...'_  
   
Greg's demeanour suddenly shifted from irate to curious, as he dipped his head, leaning into Mycroft's groin, sniffing and licking. Sherlock watched as his brother's eyes lit up with an idea, and smirked as he hunched his shoulders slightly, switching from coy to uncertain in a flash.  
   
 _'I... I ran away.'_  
   
 _Oh._ Sherlock settled in again, eyes gleaming as he prepared himself to take in the whole story. This - this is where the fairy tale truly began. Not with the encounter in the forest, but with Red's backstory. And it was a dark tale indeed, just like those that the brothers had indulged in when they were younger. Ten year-old Mycroft had thought nothing of tucking his three year-old brother into bed with him and reading the grimmest of the Grimms' out loud, both of them giggling when it came time to devour, or be devoured. Whether it be against witches, beasts, or the protagonist's own parents, they would both cheer when the children came out ahead of the villains, although after the story was told, and they had turned out the lights and laid their heads together under the covers, they would whisper to each other about how if they were the villain, they would have won out. Because of course they were much more clever than any old Wolf could ever be... Oh, yes.  
   
Sherlock let his mind wander briefly, thinking back on the days when he was convinced that he and his brother would one day live in a magical forest with talking beasts, that they would be together, forever, and if anyone even thought of tearing them asunder, oh, they would rue the day. For they would be the cleverest, the strongest wizards that would ever be in the history of anything. Yes, there would be cautionary tales around the fire, bolts across doors and shutters in windows, pitiful attempts to keep the much-afeared Holmes brothers from eating them all up. They would rule the forest with no regard for anything or anyone but themselves, and oh, it would be glorious. And then there was the night that Mycroft had picked up  _Peter Pan_ to read to his brother, a fairy tale of sorts, yes, but of course Sherlock had fixated on Captain Hook, and from then on it was pirates or it was nothing. Mycroft had soon become bored with pirates, Sherlock had become bored with story time, and they had migrated to their own beds for a while after that.  
   
Sherlock shook his head slightly as he watched the Wolf comforting Red, encouraging him to continue his story. _Pirates._ What had he been thinking? He should have stuck with the fairy tales, obviously. That would have kept him in his brother's bed, at least - kept him where he belonged. He shuddered as he tuned himself back into Red's tale, with just the barest mentions of unsavoury acts on the part of his former 'master' slipping from his brother's lips. Sherlock's body shivered again as the Wolf erupted in a quiet, yet barely-contained fury.  
   
'Enough _. I have heard enough. You will lead me, Red. You will take me to this foul creature and I will slay him where he lies, on that bed of filth. I will carry his carcass back here to my forest, and my pets and I will feast upon his entrails. We will leave nothing behind but his bones, and you shall have his skull as a prize.'_  
   
Ye gods. _Unf. Just - unf._ Mycroft seemed to agree, as his mouth dropped open and hung there stupidly for just a moment. But then a look of cunning passed over his features, and the Wolf's manner went from a simmering rage to utter delight in the blink of an eye, as Red described the method of his revenge upon his prior captor. Poison, oh yes. Just the method that Sherlock would have used himself. So many horrible and delightful things that can happen to a man with just a drop of the right elixir...  
   
And then the manner of Red's imprisonment came up, the fact that he had the key on him the whole time, but found that he was too weak to set himself free. Sherlock tilted his head, a small furrow of deep thought between his brows. Red was offering himself to the Wolf, yes, but there was a deeper meaning there. Not that Greg hadn't locked Mycroft up time and time again, there was just something - else. Something that Greg was wilfully ignoring, for he was the only person who could read Mycroft as easily as Sherlock could. What Mycroft was asking for... Perhaps Greg wasn't willing to give. At least - not yet.  
   
 _'You would have me make you mine.'  
   
'I would, Your Grace. I wish to be yours. Completely. Freely.'_  
   
Sherlock's frown deepened. Ridiculous. Mycroft couldn't be anything but Greg's. Not even if he had his signature branded on his arse, for fuck's sake. But what, then, was he asking for? The frown lightened upon the Wolf's insistence that Red's offer be true, smirking and nodding along as he described Panther's potential method of taking justice if the Wolf were to be harmed in any way. And then Red was essentially throwing himself at his captor, pleading his case quite convincingly.  
   
 _'Feel me, Master Wolf.'_  
   
Oh. _Oh!_ Master. Oh, _hell_. Sherlock glanced up at the bed, blinking his eyes as they attempted to adjust from the brightness of the screen to the dim light of the room. The three figures hadn't moved much, but Mycroft was still clinging to Greg rather like a limpet, his face mashed into his chest, one long leg tucked up tight around his waist and one arm wrapped around his torso and up, his hand clutching onto his lover's shoulder. Hell and damnation. That was what he meant, that was he wanted. And Greg was too noble to give it to him, it seemed. Sherlock took a deep breath and looked to John, who had turned over in his sleep and was facing away from the entwined couple. John had experience with that sort of thing - he could help Mycroft get what he wanted. It wouldn't really be a manipulation, right? After all, Greg wanted them all to be happy, right?  
   
 _'Take me, Wolfie. Take all that I am and make me yours.'_  
   
Again, it was quite ridiculous, but it seemed that it would make a difference to his brother, and so Sherlock would make sure that he would get what he wanted. Anything for brother dear.  
   
 _'Take your taste, my love. Take me.'_  
   
 _"Nghk."_ Sherlock once again felt the swirling sensation of his blood leaving his brain too quickly, but this time the throbbing of his stiff cock was easier to ignore. Not that it didn't strive for his full attention as his brother thrashed across the mattress and bloody well begged to be fucked, his desperation nearly radiating off of him in harsh waves. Even the Wolf, that glorious beast, held back on his clear desire for fear of hurting his _'dear Red'_ , his _'lovely human child'_. Such caring words for such a filthy animal... Not that Greg hesitated to let that animal out once he had sunk in balls-deep, no. Sherlock once again employed his fist to muffle his own gasps and moans as he watched that magnificent arse clench and flex as those wickedly gifted hips kept pistoning, thrusting that wonderful thick cock deep into his brother's body. Oh, oh _God_.  
   
Mycroft cried out as he pulled Greg in closer, and Sherlock could see his hips rising to meet his lover's thrusts, knew the moment he had come not so much from the stiffening of his body, but because Greg had set his new teeth into those marks of his, the brand that was the result of his prior savagery. There was no way that Mycroft would last very long after that - that particular spot may as well be marked 'instant orgasm', especially when Greg and his teeth were involved. After Red had stopped twitching, the Wolf withdrew. Sherlock smiled with approval, as even through his obvious haze of lust, Greg took a moment to tilt his lover's head and make sure that he hadn't caused any new wounds. Satisfied, on that score at least, the Wolf wrapped his hands around Red's hips and tugged at him insistently.  
   
Red took his meaning and immediately rolled over and pushed himself up on his knees, presenting his arse rather nicely. Sherlock shifted as he stifled another moan. God, such a pretty picture, with his brother's arsehole nicely open, simply waiting to be filled up again. And the Wolf didn't disappoint, taking just a moment to position his lover to his satisfaction before sliding in all the way and starting to move once again, leaning forward as he shoved his brother's face into the pillows, holding him down as he took what he needed, and just as Mycroft was reaching for the headboard to brace himself, Greg moaned and his spine contorted, his hips twitching as he released deep into his lover's body. There was another strong jerk as Mycroft's entire body tensed suddenly, and Sherlock giggled a little as he realised that his brother had essentially clamped down on Greg's cock to induce another spurt of ejaculate. Dirty boy.  
   
Greg laughed, low and dark, in between short gasps of breath.  
   
 _'Mine. You're all mine, now.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Sherlock's analyses of the Red & Wolfie scene...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you guys are really, really going to hate where I've ended this particular chapter, but I once again found it escaping my control. I definitely wanted to post something here though, because you guys have been remarkably patient. 
> 
> So here goes, and more to come, as always.
> 
> Please, do comment - it really, really helps when the muse is feeling a bit peaked. 
> 
> I adore you all - kisses!

Sherlock scoffed quietly. Again, ridiculous. As if he could be anything but...  
   
He watched with a small bit of amusement as the lovers arranged themselves for their recovery, Mycroft insisting on keeping hold of Greg's cock for as long as possible. Greg laughed at him quietly, but complied as best he could, because there was no way he could really refuse his pet anything that he requested of him. Sherlock cocked his head. As long as that request was spoken out loud, of course. He would definitely have to talk to John, because there was no way that Mycroft would be able to gather the courage to speak of these particular desires to his lover.  
   
They discussed the game briefly, and Sherlock found himself nodding along as Mycroft praised Greg for his dramatic performance, for the admirable restraint he had employed throughout the scene. Of course, that was mostly because 'Fox' had neatly drawn two orgasms right out of him before the game had even begun... There was a moment of peace between the two men as they curled up together on the bed, and Sherlock found himself squirming uncomfortably as Greg caressed his brother gently. Why was it that he had absolutely no issue with watching them thoroughly degrade one another, but had difficulty bearing witness to their quiet intimacy? He had obviously been at the centre of Greg's loving attentions many times himself, and had also shared quite a few of those moments with John. So it wasn't Greg's role that was disturbing him... No, it was his brother that was setting off these odd emotions. Sherlock was so used to seeing him completely buttoned-up, his face steeled into utter indifference (or, if he were lucky, cool interest), observing his younger brother as if he were a gaudily-coloured insect pinned under a microscope. This - this creature that was relaxed and calm and - _giggly_ , for fuck's sake - was this truly his brother?  
   
Why? Why had he hidden this part of himself away from him for so long? Sherlock knew that Mycroft had always taken what he had seen as his duty to him very seriously, and that he perhaps had ideas of how a 'Holmes man' should be expected to behave, and that he had attempted to model that same stolid behaviour for his younger brother. But it had left them both so miserably unhappy... So much for being the smartest man in the room - for either of them, really. Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip momentarily. Yes, their minds were remarkable, and they were truly blessed, but at the same time, both of them had been rather stupid, hadn't they? Sherlock smiled softly as Mycroft's giggles bubbled quietly into his ears and through his body, inducing a warm wave of indefinable emotion in his chest. Yes, they had both been incredibly dense, but now they were perhaps catching up, re-learning what it truly meant to be men, whether of the exotic Holmes variety, flashy and brilliant, or of a much more common species, muted, yes, but beautiful all the same.  
   
Sherlock snorted suddenly as the content of the conversation that had been captured on camera filtered through his wandering consciousness. He had seen Greg poking at his stomach and 'arguing' with it many times, and had simply shaken the absurdity of it off as 'one of those things' that he would have to put up with if he were to keep him in his life. Besides it being ridiculously cute, considering the many times that he had bewildered his lover, or outright insulted him in front of his team, Sherlock felt that having an imaginary conversation with various body parts was simply the least of any number of maddening quirks that he could easily tolerate. His eyebrows drew together slightly as the older man turned his attention to his complaining tummy, realising that the black hole in question really did seem to be responding to Greg's remarks, as Sherlock could actually hear it rumbling faintly over the audio feed. How astonishing. Mycroft simply stared over his shoulder in bemusement, his face softening into an expression of utter adoration as he gazed upon his lover. Sherlock sucked in a breath - God, he was practically glowing with love and contentment... He felt his own body shiver with delight as his brother turned in his lover's arms and practically smothered him with kisses.  
   
There was a swift jolt of - something - pain, jealousy, need, want - he just didn't _know_ , but it quickly ebbed away as Mycroft twisted his body again, going flat on his belly as his hand searched on the floor for Red's goodie basket. Greg's eyes lit up as the treasure was revealed, of course, and Red volunteered to fetch milk. Ah, so that explained how John must have been pulled in... Hm. Sherlock glanced up at the bed briefly, but his eyes quickly went back to the screen as he heard his brother let slip a little naughty joke about him - really, a very little one - but still, he felt his cheeks heat up quite embarrassingly. He knew that his brother thought of him in a physical manner from time to time - after all, they had both acknowledged having certain feelings in their own subtle (or in his case, not subtle at all) fashions, but still - hearing his brother admit that he thought him attractive made a swift thrill course down Sherlock's spine.  
   
And then oh - as Red slid his silly lace knickers back onto his body, as he explained to his Gregory that of course he was going to make a mess of them, that he wanted to make a mess of them, that he may even save the blasted disgusting things as a concrete reminder of this night - oh. _"Ngh."_ Sherlock bit down on his fist to keep his desperate moan to nothing but a quiet rumble. Oh, his brother really was nothing but a filthy little slut, wasn't he? Oh, _God_. Sherlock fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown, reassuring himself that he still had some unused tissues at hand. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before he might have need of them again...

He smirked as the Wolf briefly re-awakened at Red's nasty words, as Greg flung himself off the bed and collided with his lover hard, the solid sound of their bodies hitting the wall making Sherlock wince. He tilted his head as Mycroft neatly shook off his overly-affectionate attacker, and giggled as Greg flounced away, his lower lip pulled down adorably. Sherlock found that he quite agreed with his brother - nobody but Gregory Lestrade could still be as smoulderingly sexy with such a solid pout affixed to his face.

Sherlock let his imagination roam as Red slipped out the door, closing the door firmly behind him. He was dimly aware of Greg moving slowly around the room, once more straightening this and that in a somewhat random fashion. His mind was already swiftly going over the possibilities of Red encountering John on his brief sojourn to the kitchen to fetch milk. Would he have been in the sitting room, reading? Or maybe he had already retired to the bedroom, in a vain attempt to get some sleep. He would have been restless, Sherlock knew that at the very least. In his own quiet way, John was just as curious as Sherlock himself, even though he would never freely admit to it. As he had laid there alone in their shared bed, his own mind could very well have been spinning with all of the possible scenarios that might have been unfolding in the room above... He would have tossed and turned and been all too aware of any aberrant noises, and so when Mycroft came down to raid the fridge, no doubt John would have jumped at the opportunity to interrogate him. Yes, that must be how he was induced to enter this particular scene... Even with the dressing gown that his brother had donned, the tantalising stockings were still clearly visible and definitely would have proved to be too great a temptation for the good doctor to ignore. And there was the question of the milk that Mycroft would be purloining as well... As enticing as the sight of Red's outfit would be, the possibility of a tasty late-night snack would undoubtedly have been even more intriguing to John's body, as well as to his mind.  
   
_'Sherlock.'_ The dark-haired man cocked his head and blinked rapidly, coming out of his head with a small jerk. His eyes darted to the bed, but none of the figures tangled up in each other had moved. _'Hey, baby.'_ His attention zeroed in on the laptop once again, where Greg was standing on the far side of the bed, waving at the camera with a little smile. _'Knew you wouldn't be able to resist, you silly git...'_ Sherlock blushed, his cheeks heating abominably. Greg smirked, almost as if he could see the abashed expression on his lover's face. He clambered back onto the mattress and turned his back to the camera, shifting his hips and making the tail twitch saucily behind him. Greg chuckled throatily as he threw a cheeky wink over his shoulder. _'What do you think, hm? Kind of ridiculous, I know...'_ He nibbled on his lower lip as he clenched down on the plug, and Sherlock once again had to bite his fist hard to keep from groaning aloud. _'But it makes me feel... I dunno.'_ Greg twisted his torso, all of the muscles in his body tensed beautifully. Sherlock's mouth dropped open as his lover posed for him and him alone, a true vision of masculine strength and grace. _'Powerful.'_ He grinned at the camera, exposing his new white canines, letting his mouth drop open slightly so his nimble tongue could flicker out and over them, caressing the sharp tips idly. _'Yeah, that's it. Strong. Wild. Of course, that could be dear Red's reaction to the whole get-up as much as my own feelings on the matter...'_ Greg ran his hands down his body carelessly, reaching behind to cup his own buttocks, squeezing gently. _'I'll be expecting you, baby. So when it gets to be too much for you, you just wake me on up. I'll take care of you, my love. Give you what you need, yeah? Make sure that your selfish brother doesn't get the Big Bad Wolf all to himself...'_  
   
Sherlock's head swam as all of the blood once more fled for his nether regions, and he vaguely heard Greg let out a soft sigh as he lowered his body to the mattress, curling up into a tidy ball and absentmindedly petting the tail all along the length of his thigh. He gave his insistent cock a hard squeeze, his entire body shuddering at the glorious sensation, urging him to give in. But no - he was still in control, damn it. He would most definitely take Greg up on his generous offer, of course he would, but there was still a mystery to be solved - just how John had managed to wind up in bed with these two men a full week ahead of schedule. Not that he was angry about it - not at all, which frankly surprised the hell out of him. He was just...intrigued. Almost unbearably so.   

At least he didn't have long to wait for his curiosity to be assuaged, as Mycroft opened the door in the next moment and poked his head in. Sherlock watched with an almost paralysing anticipation as John followed silently, clutching a glass in one hand. He grinned as the smaller man's eyes locked onto the figure lying on the bed, Greg's back to them as he continued to stroke and play with the devilish furry appendage that was stuffed up his bum. Sherlock snickered slightly as John went utterly still and a little limp, with Mycroft darting in to rescue the glass before it dropped from his hand completely. With a tiny and somewhat uncertain glance between the two men, Mycroft reached over and placed his burdens on the desktop with a solid thump, thereby announcing their presence. Sherlock snorted at the startled glance that Greg threw over his shoulder, his quite unnecessary but still highly amusing yelp of surprise as he swiftly ducked out of sight.

He could just barely see Greg flat on his belly on the other side of the bed, contemplating briefly as the silly ears on the top of his head seemed to somehow perk up. How was he going to play this? It wasn't just Greg that John had come to see, after all. He wanted the Wolf, didn't he? Sherlock sighed low as he saw the resolution of this thought occur to his lover, as Greg's spine rippled slightly, as his glorious body once again tensed into the powerful lines of the predator. Oh, oh yes. Naturally, however, once he came out of his hiding place, he directed his questions to Red, seeming to ignore the smaller man until his presence had been adequately explained to him. Sherlock smirked again as Mycroft circled John a little warily, calming the Wolf's fears that perhaps his former master's soldiers had indeed penetrated his forest lair. As Red settled behind the small 'warrior', his elegant hands stroking him gracefully, Sherlock felt his own breath flutter in his chest, mirroring Mycroft's apparent reaction. After all, he and John had embraced before, and even shared a kiss or two, but this was still somewhat forbidden territory. Sherlock could almost feel his brother's body wavering, his physical self obviously torn between his desperate yearning and his mind echoing with the innate knowledge, the certainty, that it was wrong.

Still, the physical must have won out, even if only slightly, because his brother's dithering did not stop him from wrapping those cool hands of his around John's biceps and squeezing gently. Red's eyes fluttered as the little warrior tensed against him, showing the extent of the strength that he was being praised for. Sherlock was pleased that Mycroft seemed to ask permission before stripping John out of his vest as the Wolf was exhorting him to do, although with the beast's attention focused so narrowly on him, the smaller man seemed a little beyond anything even resembling coherent thought. He grinned even wider as Mycroft raked his fingers through John's tousled hair, once again bringing it under control. _Everything in its place, eh, brother mine?_ Wolfie growled and snarled as Red took a little too long stripping John down, showing a magnificent sense of impatience. Sherlock's fingers tensed along his thigh as John hitched in a quiet breath, as he reacted much the same way that Mycroft had during the start of the game, as he himself had reacted, even though none of them knew it. He sighed quietly, looking once more to the bed, catching just a glimpse of shiny silver hair. What was it about this man that could drive all thought so neatly out of all of their heads? Sherlock didn't know how many times he had been struck dumb by staring, just staring at that lovely face, those deep brown eyes, with nothing but 'oh' in his mind. Just - _oh_.

Sherlock swallowed uneasily as Red crouched, pulling John's pants down as he went. He couldn't see his brother's face, but he knew by the quivering tension of his body that he was fighting an inward battle, just barely coming out on the side of self-control. There was a brief moment of unauthorised touch, just a subtle reaching out for support in the form of clutching at John's solid calves, just for a moment, just to steady himself, and then he rose easily to his feet, taking a necessary step away from temptation. He steadfastly avoided looking down at the golden body that was now standing before him, unashamedly bare, swaying slightly under the intensity of the Wolf's laser-like regard.

More words of praise, of comparison to the imaginary Bobcat, and then beckoning, calling the tender human morsel closer, and John obeyed, seemingly caught up in the Wolf's spell. He certainly moved as if in a daze, nearly catching his feet in his discarded clothing before reaching out and being yanked in by his lover's strong grip. There was just a soft sound, a gentle curse that was pushed from his throat as John was pulled in close, the Wolf's nose swiftly burying itself in his neck, Greg huffing quietly as he inhaled his scent. Sherlock blinked as Mycroft shifted to the side, once more concealing himself behind his dressing-gown. His battle for self-control apparently won, it seemed that he was preparing himself to stand quietly by and merely observe, as he should.

Oh, but the Wolf, that damnable beast... No, this he would not allow, would he? Greg, either too caught up in his animalistic persona to care or simply feeling contrary, neatly pulled his poor brother right back in, accusing dear Red of using his body as bait to entice the warrior into the Wolf's lair. His tone was mocking and yet fond, and Mycroft jolted somewhat guiltily as he admitted to the ruse. Sherlock shook his head to clear it, unable to determine if that tiny glimmer of guilt was Red's, or Mycroft's. Did he actually intend to snare John into some kind of trap, or had it happened by accident? Perhaps the guilt was just an unconscious reaction to the whole scene, a bit of a defence mechanism... Oh, but what did it matter? Especially as John stood there, apparently unaware of anything but the Wolf's attentions to his tight little body, swaying and wavering toward him as he was caressed all over.  

And then there was the command for Red to strip, and once again, Sherlock felt his head swim. God, if it was going to continue to do that, he may just have a stroke before this whole scene was finally put to bed... His brother had moved completely out of the line of sight of the camera by now, no doubt plastered against the front of the wardrobe for support. Bugger! Although... Yes, the Wolf's demand had filtered through John's befuddled mind, as the smaller man first turned his head and then his body in order to more fully appreciate Mycroft's little show. And he was in full view of the camera, so Sherlock could at least watch his reactions and perhaps get his vicarious thrills that way. If he closed his eyes and held his breath, he could just barely hear the soft, sensuous slide of the stockings being tugged off of his brother's long legs... Oh, yes.

_'John... I didn't mean to reject you, my love.'_

Sherlock's eyes flashed open again, taking in the glorious sight of Greg holding John tight from behind, murmuring his apologies into his ear as he continued to caress his small, golden body gently. He once again felt the distinct twinge of shame low in his throat and determined that no matter how Greg made it up to him, he would certainly be making his own reparations to the good doctor as well. Not that he hadn't apparently been properly taken care of, as John made his own demand of the wondrous beast rubbing up behind him, as the Wolf chuckled and didn't hesitate to snatch up the lube and start to work the smaller man's body open for him. Oh good fucking God.

And then a brief silence, as Mycroft must have stopped in the middle of his striptease, no doubt utterly beguiled by what was happening right in front of him. Any action that he had witnessed in the flesh had been of the rutting or sucking variety, so to actually be in the room while Greg was fucking John, oh, what a treat for his dear brother. Sherlock smirked slightly as his mind's eye flashed on Mycroft's face, cheeks flaming red, mouth hanging slack, eyes wide and nearly all black pupil... Mm. Just as he hoped to see him soon, his brother's face looking down on him, absolutely stupid with lust and desire. Oh. Again, just - _oh_. He blinked rapidly as the Wolf snapped and snarled, obviously displeased that Red had neglected to obey his demands completely.

_'The rest of it, Red. Take off that ridiculous skirt.'_

Sherlock giggled quietly as Captain Watson put in a brief appearance, adding his own tone of command to the Wolf's. Mycroft apparently looked to Greg for approval, as the silver head nodded slightly. And then the golden head was dipping, watching that skirt fall to the floor with intense concentration. John's body tensed suddenly, and Greg cocked his head and withdrew his hand from deep in the smaller man's body. Sherlock blinked rapidly and tilted his own head in bewilderment as John swiftly sank onto his knees and fell forward onto his hands, crawling across the floor to Red's feet. Once again, the most interesting action was now completely out of Sherlock's line of vision, and his body trembled with sheer frustration.

_'Show me, Red. I need to_ see _.'_

What? Th-the toenails? Was that what this was about? Since when did John have a thing for feet? Even if they were rather elegant and graceful and well... All right, so they were quite definitely lovely, especially with the addition of that bit of red sparkle, but still. Once more Sherlock's head swam at the indistinct noises that were drifting through his ears, soft kisses and gentle sucking noises, good God, John was sucking on Mycroft's toes, wasn't he? Oh fuck. Bad, _bad_ little man. Okay, so Sherlock was going to apologise for leaving John alone to deal with an overly-frustrated Greg, but John was going to have to apologise for his transgression as well. Oh, he'd certainly give the good doctor something to suck on, that was for sure.

Greg had joined his lover on the floor by this time, probably to continue to work his arse open as he _was_ rather conveniently positioned on hands and knees. He admonished him gently, and John cursed, oh yes he did, but he also agreed and once more turned his demands on the Wolf, who seemed all too eager to accept. There was a quiet thump and the picture on the laptop shuddered slightly, no doubt a reaction to Mycroft attempting to keep himself upright against the solid surface of the wardrobe. Greg turned to him in the middle of positioning John to his satisfaction, encouraging him to join them in his 'den'. As Mycroft once more entered the picture, Sherlock winced slightly. His face was extraordinarily pale, and his prick looked quite painfully hard in his disgusting and yet still somehow ridiculously adorable red lace knickers. Sherlock bit his lip and stroked his own cock a little absentmindedly. No, not to get off, _no_ , he was going to save that for Greg. But still...

With his brother looking like that, all long lines and desperation and naked lust, with John being laid out before the eager Wolf like some kind of sacrificial victim... Oh, no. Sherlock placed the laptop on the lid of the toy box, shifting to his knees quite carefully in order to keep his earbuds in place. Then he reached for the bottle of lube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brit-picked by the lovely Caz, aka NumberThirteen - thank you, dearie! :)


End file.
